Never Forgotten
by Kus Kus
Summary: [ Includes spoilers for the end of the series. ] Celena Schezar has returned home, bringing with her a past that is not truly hers. But can she regain life as it was? Or will the madness that was her alterego swallow her whole?
1. Prologue

_5/21/2003 || *dusts off the cobwebs* i hope nothing's been chewing at these pages. anyways, hello :) wonder if anyone out there continues to check this fic out? anyways, here i am - once again in an attempt to reinspire myself to finish the derned thing. i'm looking, again, for constructive criticism from anyone, be it email, commentary, or AIM (kusanagi mamoru). as a special treat (torturous device?) i've also uploaded the unfinished portion of chapter 18. _

_(*coughs out the corn*)anyways, i beg of you, please please please help this ailing writer out! all those benevolent souls out there, i beseech you!_

_special thanks to Sarah-Neko and Bambi Eloriaga for inspiring large portions of this story. absolutely wonderful writers, the both of them, so find them here if you can!_

_- Kus Kus_   
  


**[ Prologue ]**

The Schezar estate, bordering on the Asturian capitol, Pallas, was isolated but envied. The multi-floored blended Asturian sensibility with Daedalian architecture, forming a home that was both simple and elegant at the same time. Surrounding the household were fields, blotted here and there with an ancient tree or two. Unlike their farmer neighbors, the Schezars had always left nature to its course, for their family had long been blessed with men and women who'd either attained good marriages or had found positions ranking high within the royal court. As a result, acres of fauna and flora bloomed, coloring the small, rolling hills with enormous varieties of greens, purples, reds, yellows, and blues. It was both beautiful and dangerous, perfectly suited to the restless nature of the most recent Schezar brood. 

For years the house had remained curiously empty. Leon Schezar, a black stain on the long line of honorable and devoted Knights and noblemen was a wanderer, and after visiting Zaibach termed himself an "archaeologist." Often Leon would return from his frequent quests with some strange artifact or another, carting a pouch full of jewels or coins from different lands, therefore supplementing his family in a way that was unheard of. His lovely wife, when the marriage was new, was thrilled to join him on his journeys, reveling in the adventure and the experience that awaited them around Gaea. Then, when their first son and then their daughter were born, loved him enough to endure the loneliness while he was gone. 

However, Encia argued with him fervently when he mentioned searching for the ancient, cursed city of Atlantis. This, she argued, was finally madness. She screamed, wept, and begged, and at the last it seemed he agreed. Only the next day, Leon Schezar left behind his young wife, a small daughter, and a boy just taking his first steps into manhood, never to return. 

One day Celena, his daughter, entered a game of hide and seek with her brother. Blessed or cursed with the same wayward nature as her father, she often took to the bordering forest, despite the dangers and the warnings. No one found her. 

Soon afterwards, Encia wasted away from grief. 

Allen, too young to manage the household on his own, gave leave to all but a few trusted family servants whose duty henceforth was to watch over the Schezar estate, and wandered into the forest himself. He blundered about, challenging unwary highway travelers to duels, until confronted by Balgus, one of the Three Swordsmasters of Gaea. Seeing in the young man an untamed, saddened good spirit, he took him under his wing. 

Allen became a Knight Caeli, restoring his family's honourable court position. The Schezar estate once more became a home, and the servants were reinstated. 

However, after a scandal involving the King's eldest daughter he was sent to the Castelo Fort, remotely located on the border of Asturia and Zaibach, a neighboring country rich in ambitions and technology. The fort was well equipped, but far, and his visits to the family estate became infrequent. 

Celena resurfaced as the nightmarish Commander of the Dragonslayers, Zaibach's elite Guymelef force. However, Celena was not Celena anymore. 

Dilandau Albatou, a young man who gleefully burned a country to cinders, had taken her place. 

Allen, alongside King Van Slanzar de Fanel, the young lord of Fanelia, and Hitomi Kanzaki, a powerful girl from the Mystic Moon, became key figures in a war that spanned all of Gaea. 

Van and Dilandau became bitter enemies. The hatred between them consumed Dilandau, and his road to madness was swift and terrible. Van watched as the young boy and his forces murdered and destroyed everything around him. His feet would have traced the same path, but the love of the strange, foreign girl saved him.   
  
Though Allen and Dilandau crossed swords many times, eventually Allen, through both chance and knowledge of the defected Strategos of Zaibach, Folken Lacour de Fanel, Van's once lost brother, discovered the truth. 

Eventually they were reunited, Celena and Allen. He took her home, intent on giving her the life she never had. 

Folken perished in the war, a victim of his misguided dreams. 

Hitomi returned home to Earth and resumed her life as it had been, wiser. 

…and Van never forgave Dilandau his sins.   



	2. Part I Remember Chapter 1

**[ 1 ]**

The door to the mansion burst open. A young woman, chin-length silver hair flying in the wind, flew out of the entrance, leaving behind two outraged maids and trailing behind her the cloth of an untied dress ribbon. She made her way through the tall rushes and abundant flowers, taking a path through the wildlife that was familiar only to her. Through the rustling of the plants and the chirps of disturbed birds she heard the women scrambling about, crying out her name in frustration.

The rushes would not cover her fully; she was tall for her age. Instead, she found a familiar dry stone to sit upon, one that neighbored a tiny, bubbling stream and had a marvelous view of the nearby forest. They'd give up soon enough. She removed the tight satin baby-blue shoes that they had been making her stand in for what felt like half a day. They plopped delightfully in a nearly mud puddle. The shoes were pretty, she had to admit, but oh so uncomfortable. Sighing, she wiggled her toes in her stockings. A pair of men's soft leather boots would have done just as well, in her opinion.

After several minutes of quietly waiting, one of the maids uttered a profanity, adding that Allen could come out and find his own blasted sister. Celena sighed in relief, and walked shoeless towards the woods. It had taken much well-planned wiggling and an "accidental" trip to get out of that one. Some dinner Allen wanted to take her to. Some people her age he wanted her to meet. "Be more social!" He would laugh. "You keep cooped up here so long I might start thinking you want to become a nun."

Celena stuck out her tongue at the mansion in the distance as she backstepped into the woods. So what if she wanted to stay cooped at home? She'd already dragged herself to a few of those little social gatherings. They always began with the formal introductions and usual pish-posh: My Lord Allen, how _good_ of you to come! Who is this? Your sister is it? What a _fine_ young woman, with such an unusual look! Really now Allen, why haven't you brought this _delightful_ creature here before? Shy is it? Sickly? Well she absolutely _must_ be introduced to my son. No? Too early to think of things such as that? You _do_ realize how old you both are. Oh I suppose I _will_ have to let you go.

"Well, damn him and damn all of them!" she cried, hurling the remains of the dress tie into a nearby bush. Why did she put herself through that drivel? If only

If only Allen didn't smile when she put on those dresses. If only he wouldn't be so kind to her all the time. If only he wasn't so patient, so loving, so caring. If only she could forget that he'd rescued her and brought her home. If only there was someone else who could ease the pain of a tortured, stolen childhood

Celena shook her head against some painful, half-forgotten memory, and smiled a little. All right, she decided. She would go to another damnable social gathering. Time to brush up on the fake smiles and prepare that little shield that protected her from the stares and the whispers. She stood up, brushing the back of the dirtied dress (only to find the process smeared the mud instead of removing it), and prepared to turn herself in rather than wait out being found.

A burning pain rushed up the right side of her cheek.

She fell onto her knees and elbows, her breath caught in her throat, one hand clutching her stomach and the other grasping desperately at the earth and grass before her. Her teeth were clenched tight, though her lungs screamed for air, while the rest of her face contorted in an expression of staggering agony. Nausea coupled itself with searing, tearing pain, as if all of her muscles were trying to break themselves away from her bones. With a practise born from a year's worth of experience she held herself back from retching and bit back her screams. When it passed, she swallowed a few gulps of precious air and stood, pale and shaking uncontrollably. She waited a bit while her color returned, then adjusted her clothing and her hair. No one would know of this, or any other, of these episodes.

Nor would anyone know of the Voice that had pierced her head with its outraged screams.

"I'm sorry."

"You've ruined the dress! And look at your feet!"

"I'm sorry."

"And _where_ are those shoes? I spent hours pondering over the exact ones that would go with this splendid outfit!"

"I'm sorry."

The head maid stomped her foot. Celena's bowed head hid her quivering lip corners. The reddish-purplish (not to mention flopping) cheeks of the elder, fatter woman would have set her off into a fit of giggles. 

"That would be enough, Eliste."

Celena looked up at the man in the doorway. Resplendant in his Asturian Honour Guard's uniform, long blonde hair swept down over shoulders and back, slightly dusty from the lengthy ride back from the palace, stood Allen Schezar. His eyes bore down on the only other pair on Gaea to share such an astonishingly beautiful blue, while his other handsome features were marred by a reproachful frown. Despite this, Celena found she was unable to help herself.

"Allen!" she exclaimed, a smile brightening her face as she rushed to clasp him around the chest. Allen's lungs released a slight _oomph_ in objection, but his face lightened in response to her tight squeeze. He smoothed back stray locks of her hair.

"Sir Allen! If you are going to let your sister run wild like a little boy then you'll have everyone up in arms about the Schezar tomboy! Think of the public disaster! It's just like that disturbing princess, Millerna!" Eliste punctuated each sentence with a sharp strike to the air with an gnarled, liver-spotted hand.

At that, Allen frowned. "That would be enough, Eliste."

Eliste drew in another heaving breath to protest. Allen interrupted in a tone that was gentle, but demanded a finality to the matter. "I said, that would be enough."

Celena snuck a peek at the frustrated woman. Nose high in the air, Eliste made a small, perfunctory curtsey, and flounced out of the room, murmuring her dissention. Once the door had closed, and she and her brother were alone, Celena flung herself out of Allen's grasp and plopped into a chair.

"Oh, Allen!" she wailed, "I hate this! I hate these stockings-" which she pulled and tossed, "I hate these ribbons-" brilliant blue ribbons that hung stubbornly to the ends of a few strands of hair were also pulled and dropped, "Why? Why do you make me do these things when you know what I was and what I've done?"

While she threw her fit, Allen removed his gloves and shrugged out of his vest. At her last statement he looked at her sharply, eyes wide and mouth slightly open in shock and anger. Celena noticed the quick, startled look and cringed. "I'm sorry."

"Was that an answer for Eliste or myself?" was his soft reply. He sat down in the plush chair next to her and grasped her hands. "You still haven't come to terms with it, have you?"

Celena sighed, her eyes stinging with unwanted tears. Allen gathered her to his breast.

Let me out! LET ME OUT! You know damn well you can't shut me away forever!

Celena squeezed her eyes shut, clamping both the Voice and her tears. Her grip on her brother's shirt whitened her knuckles. Allen winced, helpless against a pain that he would never fully understand. He sighed and smiled softly. "You can pick your own clothes next time. You're probably getting old enough to choose for yourself."

Celena loosened her grip on her brother's tunic. "I'll go to your party." She cast a hopeful look up at him. "Can I wear some boots with my dress instead?"

He smiled down at her. "I'll see what I can do."

Celena smiled brightly back up at him and let loose a whoop of joy. "Thank you!" she cried, prior to planting a quick kiss to his cheek. A minute later she was streaking out the door, a triangular smudge of brown on her bottom revealing to her brother where she'd been hiding herself. Celena continued a run down the hallways, proclaiming her good fortune.

Allen listened to her fading voice. His smile fell as he reached into his pockets and pulled out a document bearing Asturia's Royal Family Crest.


	3. Part I Remember Chapter 2

**[ 2 ]**

It was the same. The looks, the eyes, the whispers; all of them were still there. "Should have expected it," Celena grumbled to herself, glaring disparagingly at the mirror on her vanity desk. _Well_, she decided, pulling violently at the strings holding the front of her dress together, _that would be the _last_ one_.

Slim fingers easily untangled her short curly hair after she had managed to free it from the pompous style Eliste had put it in to try and hide the fact that her tresses were shorter than her brother's. It had grown nicely within the last year and a half, so at least she could say that it was "getting there." She twirled around a lock of hair absentmindedly. Years would pass before her hair could get as long as some of those uppity noble women's, but when it did, they could stop silently haranguing her for being unfashionable.

Her finger froze. The silver strands of hair unraveled themselves from her finger and fell back to her skull. Unerringly she knew that she _liked_ her hair short; that it was attractive that way; that _she_ was attractive that way. Everyone should appreciate something so unerringly beautiful. A smile of self-appreciation crawled to her lips as she gazed longingly upon her reflection. She found a familiar path to trace along her right jaw and her smile grew wider

"No!" Celena cried hoarsely in frustration, pounding one tightly clenched fist into the mirror. The entire desk shook, rattling containers of makeup and boxes of expensive jewelry, while the mirror gave birth to a tiny crack in protest. She bit her knuckles to prevent herself from crying out any further, for fear of exposing herself to any overly-curious servants.

"How long?" she whispered, "How long can I keep hiding it?"

Not for too much longer now. And then

.I'll destroy you.

Homecoming, at first, held nothing except thrills and joy. Celena couldn't remember ever having been happier at seeing the Schezar mansion, and it was more than her long absence. There was a safitisfying feeling of security, of family, that she knew she had been lacking for years.

The flowers! The fields! She ran through them as she did as a child, waving her arms around like a bird, chasing butterflies and lizards, falling more than once over a rock or into a mud puddle to only pick herself within seconds to resume the chase. Her mother or Allen had often called out after her to be more careful, reaching out with hopeful arms for her to return. Her mother she always returned to with muddy shoes and some sort of interesting form of plantlife that had caught her eye. With Allen it was more likely that she'd expose a candy-colored tongue in their direction, then turn heel and keep on running. His long legs would catch up to her easily, and his words would be sharp. Celena would then gaze up at him, eyes innocent and adoring, a flower held up in one dirty hand, and he couldn't help but forgive her. Now her beloved mother was dead, and Allen merely watched, allowing her indulgence while a sad, wistful smile held his lips.

Things seemed so peaceful and normal at first. Allen and the house servants did their very best to act as if she'd never left. They laid out foods that were once her favourite, and who was to argue if she said that perhaps she liked her meat a bit rarer nowadays? Pink dresses suited her quite well, though she was right, the darker the red the better it brought out her complexion. And who was to do anything other than compliment the fact that she already knew how to read and understand the latest essays regarding the Gaean recovery from the War of Destiny?

Then she began to notice that discussions regarding anything remotely Zaibach halted or turned quickly when she came into earshot. She brought up the issue with Allen, vehemently demanding to know what people were hiding from her. He sat her down and asked simply if she remember a young man named Dilandau Albatou.

Celena had paused, cocked her head, and thought for a good long moment. She did, and she did not. She knew _of_ him, from the whispered talk that she'd managed to catch. And she knew that she had _been_ him, of that there was no doubt. She had tapped her head. There were visions, terrors, and feelings that were there that could not be hers, but were fragmented and hazy. Late at night, while trying to sleep, she would grasp at one, trying to hold on to a murderous intent, the smell of blood, the silky touch of the Guymelef's chemicals surrounding her (his) body. She'd sniff, feel, and her heart would race, but it would slip away swiftly, leaving her confused and empty. Allen had blinked in confusion, and she had smiled brightly. It was nothing for him to worry about, she assured him.

"I am Celena Schezar now! And no one else!"

And then, six months later, the Sickness began.

One day while exploring the Schezar estates (one of her first valiant escapes from the Terrible Eliste) she had been struck suddenly by a terrible nausea. She had vomited violently among a grove of trees. At first she attributed the sickness to that entirely unenticing new experience called menstruation. She had started covering up the mess with a pile of dirt.

Then her muscles threatened to tear from their tendons making her incapable of movement. She collapsed onto the ground. An unbearable pain ripped through her head as a voice as familiar as her own screamed frustrated obscenities at the body that had become a prison. Her mouth was frozen in a silent scream, and her body contorted and froze in a shuddering curled position on the muddy earth.

It faded after several minutes, leaving her feeling physically and emotionally weak. The back of her dress was caked in dirt, and there were more tears in the delicate fabric than she could count. Slowly she picked herself up, ran home in tears, exploded out with some half-baked story about falling down a hillside, and was sent to bed after a thorough bath and a small dinner. Further incidents became more and more frequent to where it was nearly a daily battle, and with experience it was easy to make up the stories and to hide herself when necessary.

Soon after the Sickness came the Nightmares, in which she regretted ever wondering about her former life. There were those that were pleasurable to Dilandau, sickening to Celena. He gleefully reminisced of towns burning, soldiers being crushed underneath Guymelef feet, knuckles cracking the faces of insubordinates, murders, as sadistic as they were bloody, and through it all Dilandau's boy-sweet voice and piercing laughter, coming from what felt like her own mouth.

Then there were those that terrified the both of them. Escaflowne, slaughtering every Dragonslayer one after the other while he (she) looked on in helpless horror. More rattling were those of being strapped down to a table, crying out for Allen, Jajuka, anyone, while black-robed Zaibach sorcerers prodded, pricked, and spoke in deep, monotone voices to one another of changes of fate. Celena woke up from these, sweating profusely, thankfully not screaming, and did not sleep. 

Celena slid out of her evening dress and into a light, soft nightshift. Under the feather covers she went, curled up on a bed that was obviously far too small for her current frame. Exhaustion, permeating mind and body, swiftly spiralled her into sleep.


	4. Part I Remember Chapter 3

3 **[ 3 ]**

Sunshine invited itself in from the windows near the meal table, making pleasant a warm spring's breakfast. Celena ate somewhat like a rough soldier, scooping things into rough and tasty piles before jamming them into her mouth. With Eliste and Allen's prodding, however, they'd managed to get her to stop chugging her drinks and had her sipping them, if not like a lady, then like a civilized person. Allen ate beside her, in a far more dignified manner. 

Celena belched out triumphantly at the end. She'd managed not to do so when most other people were around, but present company was excepted. Gaddes, at the other end of the table, pointed and laughed uproariously. 

Allen cast a glare in her direction. "Please don't do that, Celena. It's not becoming of a lady." 

"But Gaddes doesn't mind," she protested. 

"_I_ mind, Celena," Allen reproached. She nodded sheepishly. 

Once a maidservant had poured them all after-breakfast tea, Allen pushed an open scroll towards his sister. She picked it up, enthused by the officious wax seal and the flourishing script within. 

"Gracious invitations to the Schezars, Allen Crusade and Celena," she read. "As hero and family in the great war against Zaibach and invaluable aide to the afore mentioned victory, your presence would be appreciated in the grand welcoming ceremonies to His Royal Highness, and fellow hero, Van Slanzar de Fanel. Please arrive the morning of the designated date for proper rehearsal and preperations." She scanned down the rest of the praise and appeal towards her brother the Oh So Mighty Royal Knight Caeli to find the date. "Oh! This is three weeks from now!" 

"Yes," Allen replied. 

"And I get to go too!" Excitedly, she bounced up and down in her seat. 

Both Allen and Gaddes cast surprised looks. "You actually want to go?" 

Celena blinked, as if the answer should be obvious. "Why?" 

"It's just, little lady," Gaddes replied, "this is the first time you've even showed the slightest desire to step foot out of these grounds." 

"So?" 

Gaddes drew breath to explain the abnormality of her eagerness when Allen interrupted. "Are you certain?" 

"Yes." 

"You realize you'll have to wear an expensive dress, fitting for the royal court.' 

"Yes." 

"And probably some of those eenie weenie lady's shoes," piped Gaddes. 

"Aww." 

"Or at least some dress boots," her brother remedied. 

"Wonderful!" 

"Then it's settled," Allen finished. "We leave in three weeks! You'd better pack at least a week's worth of clothing." He tweaked her nose affectionately. "Since you've finally decided not to deny the public your lovely appearance, we'll have to site-see the capital." 

The young girl nodded in agreement. "But only if I get those boots." 

"Of course." 

Celena let out a whoop of joy to rival the one she'd made the day before. Gaddes covered his ears in appreciation as she streaked upstairs to decide what she was going to bring. He looked at Allen. Their long standing relationship gave the him no need to verbally ask the question that his face could project. 

"Because she's finally excited," Allen answered. 

"What about your suspicions?" 

Allen placed his elbows on the table and interlocked his fingers. He sighed, eyes closed, a troubled expression clouding his handsome features. "I know she's been sick in one way or another. She's been trying to hide it, and she's done well, but a simple tumble down a slope would not account for her sickly pallor." 

"Then why are you letting her--?" 

"Because she's finally excited to be out. It's been nearly a year and a half and she refuses to step outside of the estate unless I request it." 

"You know what the worst case will be." 

Allen nodded, his face shadowed by a weary, saddened look that only this soldier, companion, friend would ever see. "At least then I'll know for sure." 

Gaddes was grim. "What if it's better not knowing?" 

"It's never better not knowing." 

Crushed by the weight of disastrous possibilities, Allen sighed. "If I have to," he whispered, "I'll do what I must."   
  
  


The combatants circled each other. It had been a long, grueling fight, and their shirts and hair were sopping with perspiration. Two swordarms quivered in exhaustion, yet adrenalin-pumped excitement still shone in both their eyes. Finally, one of the fighter's patience was lost, and the clang of metal upon metal signaled a return to their deadly dance. 

Thrust, parry, thrust, parry. Hack downwards blocked by a swing upwards. Foot swing out from the opposite side, cracked aside by one leather encased arm. Slice to the head missed by mere hairs due to a quick roll forward. Spring to the feet, sword swung to one side to parry a followup. Swinging sword to knees, jump upwards to avoid. Back onto both pairs of feet, thrust, parry, thrust, parry. Stronger of the two pushing the weaker back, metal cross inches away from sweating faces. Neither looking away from the other's eyes, the weaker baring teeth in strain. 

"C'mon Celena," Gaddes grinned, leaning pursed lips forward, "give me a kiss!" 

Celena's lips thinned in irritation. Her opponent's eyes suddenly went wide in shock and pain, and his sword dropped to her feet. A few seconds later he was down on the ground, clutching a bruised manhood. 

"Now that's not very fair," groaned the elder man. 

They had been practising swordmanship since a few months after her homecoming. He had caught her completely by accident, wearing a pair of pants borrowed from a her brother's closet (nearly two sizes too large) and a blouse of her own, swinging a sword around in the middle of a small clearing in the nearby forest. Upon the vanquish of some shadowy opponent, she had posed in a knight's salute undoubtedly picked up from observing the illustrious Knight. Gaddes applauded, genuinely impressed. She had jumped and dropped the sword from nerveless fingers, pleading for him not to let Allen know what she had been doing. His first concern was that she had resorted to thievery in securing the sword. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be one from Allen's swordsmanship training which she had discovered shortly after her return. The blade was chipped in several places and the hilt had been swiftly repaired with tree sap glue and some strong, light rope. 

Gaddes recognized talent when he saw it, and there was no reason to let this one slip by, girl or no girl. Although he realized he was witnessing one of Dilandau's talents having slipped through, he couldn't resist the temptation. Scampering around behind the boss' back was a boyish thrill, and Celena promised to be an eager opponent. 

Although she hesitated at first the deal was set, and they met once a week after that, always in the same spot at the same time. At first, Gaddes spent time watching her adjust to her weaker, clumsier female frame. Many of the mock fights ended with her on the floor, ankle twisted from some root or rock her foot had managed to catch, and Gaddes' sword pointed at her throat. After several weeks of such training, however, Celena's (Dilandau's?) peak form had asserted itself. The hardy soldier now found himself frequently facing the blunted point of Celena's inferior blade from some awkward position in the dirt, her smirk on the other end. 

There were times, Gaddes felt, that the endeavor had become too risky even for him. Dilandau's fighting style was undeniably dirty. Celena had no qualms about kicking him when he was down, slicing at his unguarded backside, or striking those places that an honorable knight (or in this case, a fellow man) would have never dared. Although Celena would apologize profusely afterwards, it still left an uncomfortable question dangling over Gaddes' head, especially after Allen's continued suspicions and recent revelations concerning her alterego. 

Would it be Dilandau Albatou one day grasping the hilt of that broken sword? 

"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!" Celena was pulling his arm, trying to get him to stand. The sharp pain had reduced to a dull throbbing, and Gaddes allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. While he regained his composure, the silver-haired girl began to go through some elementary fencing moves that he had shown her the week before. 

"I'm just so nervous," she quipped. "Going to the capital, meeting the king, seeing everything!" 

Gaddes leaned on a tree trunk, smearing sweat on his brow with his sleeve. "Why are you so excited, little hermit? You know there'll be all those people there." 

Celena frowned, freezing in a customary attack position. Her sword quivered in front of her, free hand wavering up near perspiration moist locks. "I don't know," she confessed. "Something inside of me really wants to go. And I haven't seen the King since, you know, the war. Don't you think he might look different?" 

"The King, eh?" 

She dropped her position to throw him a confused look. "What?" 

"Have you been harboring a little crush on him all this time?" 

"What!" she cried, voice sharpening with indignation. 

"I see," nodded Gaddes, an amused grin decorating his unshaven maw. "So THAT would be why you're so bent on going!" 

"That's not true!" 

Gaddes walked up and pinched her on the cheek. "Then why are you blushing?" 

He expected a slap, or even another knee to the groin. To his surprise, and his dismay, Celena's response was far more deadly. 

A snarl rippled from lips curled to bare slightly pointed canines. Her sword swung from her right side, the worn handle grasped in two delicate hands, and hacked downwards. Fortunately, he hadn't sheathed his sword, and a blade aimed to split his skull was deflected effectively if awkwardly. 

The ensuing conflict was completely different than any of the others they'd had before. Blows that would have been cautiously deflected in such unarmoured sparring were not, and her precision was uncanny. Slices to the jugular, stabs to the heart, swings meant to open his belly and spill his innards on the ground were all dodged or blocked, but he was weary, and he found himself forced onto the defensive. 

Celena, on the other hand, fought as if fresh. She swung and stabbed, consistently on the offensive, whacking away any attempts by Gaddes to be so. Eyes narrowed by a rage entirely uncharacteristic of the cheerful, childish young girl was complimented by a mouth distorted by the same emotion. 

Gaddes tripped, whispering an obscenity. 

Dwn on his knees he went. The chipped and worn blade came flying down, and their blades met in another cross, only this time it was Celena who held the superior position. Gaddes' arms quivered. He grunted with the effort of holding her back, surprised that her small frame could exert so much pressure. The menacing glint off his own blade forced him to look to one side. 

"Enough already," he growled. "Let me up! It was a joke!" 

Dilandau snickered. 

Gaddes' breath caught in his throat. He peered through the stabbing light reflecting off his sword. Celena's mouth had stretched in a wide, maddening grin, her narrowed eyes burning with the thrill of the upcoming kill. The snickering escalated into a shrill mocking laugh. It was sung with Celena's high tone, but with none of her gentle demeanor. Replacing her normal bright color was something dark, cruel, and sadistic. 

"Van." The name came like poison from her tongue, spat it out with all the hatred that could be mustered. "I will show you what I think of _Van_." 

Celena's sword came up in a stroke that Gaddes knew his twisted ankle and worn muscles could not dodge completely. Perhaps, he thought, sword flying back to try and meet the blow, he could get away maimed instead of dead. 

Then his opponent screeched out a cry of indignation. Gaddes caught a glimpse of flowing blonde hair through the sweat dripping into his eyes. 

Allen gripped Celena's sword hand tightly around the wrist, pressing against nerves and ligaments until the blade fell. His free hand gripped the other wrist, twisting it behind her viciously. Celena spat obscenities, trying to kick out backwards at whatever part of her brother's body was closest. Nothing connected, as her movements were clumsy and Allen danced out of the way of the uncontrolled attacks. 

"Yield!" he barked, pretzeling Celena's arms into a more painful and maneuverable position. A feminine, frightened cry of pain burst from her lips. The Knight recognized the nature of the noise and released her. 

Celena staggered forward, wrists bearing red marks from her brother's fingers. She clutched her head, and fell over some roots. Fingers tightly gripped silvery locks, while her throat released an ear-splitting scream that sent shivers running down both men's spines. Allen rushed forward, and gently gathered her curled up form to his chest. Upon being cradled, her body collapsed, the strings cut. He looked up, peering angrily at the Crusade First Officer. 

"I'm in deep shit," Gaddes mumbled, "aren't I?" 


	5. Part I Remember Chapter 4

4 **[ 4 ]**

The room was uncomfortably silent. Celena, whom Eliste (long experienced at handling noblemen and women unconscious after stumbling home from late parties) had bathed and dressed, now lay pale but calm, almost buried within the soft folds of her bed. At her side sat her brother, fingers interlocked, elbows on his knees, and eyes closed. Furrowed eyebrows revealed his agitation. Leaning against her dresser was Gaddes, still in the same dirty state he'd been in the forest several hours before. He drummed his fingers on the polished wood, head bowed. 

"Look boss, I'm really sor--" 

"Don't be." 

"I really didn't know this was gonna hap--" 

"You should have thought a little more, then." 

Gaddes resumed drumming his fingers. "How did you know we were there?" 

Allen's eyes opened and slid over to his First Officer. "You go to the same place at the same time on the same day every week. Someone would notice." 

There was no arguing that. Gaddes cursed silently and scratched his head, made itchy by unwashed sweat. "Well, why didn't you stop us beforehand?" 

Eyes closed once more, and a sigh pushed out Allen's first sentence. "I don't think I was thinking. All I wanted was for Celena to be happy." He slid his palm to his eyes and leaned into it. "I watched her from behind a tree at a safe distance. Gods, when she hit the shadows..." He swallowed. "When she got back into the light it was my sister again, smiling. I couldn't make her stop doing something that obviously she enjoyed. I thought it might make her run away from me again." 

Allen glanced at his sister. Celena, even prior to her abduction, had this dreadful habit of turning tail and running when confronted with options that she didn't agree to. Just like the dress incident two weeks before, she would eventually return to grudgingly accept the terms. Every time she fled, Allen's mind's eye kept seeing a far younger Celena, racing down the fields while he chased afterwards. Somehow she'd keep ahead of him, and while she did she was fading away... disappearing... another loved one falling out of his life... 

"Shit." Gaddes walked over to the opposite side of the bed and kneeled down. "Those Zaibach bastards." 

Allen brushed at stray locks of Celena's hair. "It's getting worse, isn't it?" he whispered. 

Celena stirred, looked blearily at her brother. She croaked, "Allen?" 

He smiled at her. "How are you feeling?" 

"Tired." She sighed and curled up under the comforter. 

"Do you know what happened?" 

Celena's eyes went wide with fright. She nodded slightly and buried herself under the comforter. "Are we in trouble?" 

"No, Celena." Her brother lifted the comforter off her head. "However, we do need to decide what to do now." 

"What? Are you going to ground me for stealing your sword?" 

Allen's hand gently grasped the bottom of her chin. "Celena, there's no use hiding it anymore. I know you're still very... sick." 

She sat up slowly, blinking questioningly at her brother. "What do you mean, sick?" 

"He means, little lady," inserted Gaddes, "that whatever those twisted Zaibach Madoushi did to you is still messing with your system." 

"I feel fine," she grumbled. "Nothing to worry. Remember? I'm now Celena _and no one else_." She drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. 

"Celena would not have acted the way you did earlier today," Allen remarked quietly. 

She waved a hand. "I was just...upset because you were teasing me, that's all." The two men exchanged glances. "What? You don't believe me? Look! Van Van Van. I like Van. See? Nothing." 

"It's a concern," Allen continued. "These sickness spells of yours. That incident today. It's obvious specific things are triggering it now. What will happen when you see Van in person?" 

She frowned and pulled at a few of her curly locks. "You mean you don't want me causing a public spectacle. Exposing myself." A cry of frustration tore from her lips as she lifted the covers back over her head, "Let them find out already! Then at least they can start belittling me in my face than behind my back." 

Gaddes folded his arms. "Tell the truth, boss, if we don't bring her it'll just raise more suspicions." 

Allen sighed. He leaned back and ran his fingers through his hair. "All right. You can still come to the ceremony, Celena. Provided," he added, "nothing like this happens in the next week. But when we get home, I'm sending a courier to Zaibach for help." 

Celena cringed. Neither her (nor Dilandau) relished the thought of being inspected once again by Zaibach sorcerers, friendly or not. Within her still lingered pre-Dilandau memories of... something they did; something that was not worth repeating by any means. Although her natural instincts had buried any specific images, she could still recall feeling terrified, confused, and, most of all, lonely. However, the alternative, living the rest of her life in such a state, battling dominance with Dilandau every day (what if it became every hour? every minute?) was far worse. 

"When the Madoushi comes," she finally whispered, "will you stay with me?" Not be away, she added to herself. Not like before. 

"Of course, Celena," he responded softly. He leaned into the bed and gathered her into his arms. Gaddes quietly left the room, while the young girl began to sob into her brother's sleeves. Allen's eyes teared slightly. There was no telling what horrid procedures the Madoushi had used the first time around to alter her Fate, but there was unfortunately no one else with such information. He held her as close as possible, relishing the feel of having his sister once again with him, heart pounding with the fear that he may be losing her once again. 

"I'll be there this time for you."   
  
  


She walked down the hallway, boots clacking on the stone floor. The news awaiting her commander was not entirely unpleasant, nor would it be unexpected, but she wasn't thrilled about meeting his response. 

The hallway opened into her commander's sitting room, where he was draped onto a throne-like chair. By his wide, staring eyes and the mechanical way the tip of his fingers scraped along the chair's backside, she surmised that this was one report she wished she could have passed along to someone else. She snapped to attention and saluted. 

_What is this? What am I doing here?_

"What is it?" growled the impatient figure. 

"Sir!" she kneeled to the ground, fist over her heart. "I am sorry to report, Commander..." _Report? What am I here to report?_

"Well? Hurry up!" The commander swung his legs over the side of his chair and stood. His footsteps echoed through the chamber, crescendoing as they approached. It paused in front of her, the tips of the boots barely within her peripheral vision. 

"I... I... the Madoushi..." She was bewildered. Hoping for some answers, she looked up. 

Her own face leered down at her. 

Leather-encased knuckles, colored as if dipped in blood, cracked into her right cheek bone. She fell to the floor with a cry. Immediately she tried to get back up, enraged that anyone would strike her so, and was felled by a kick to the abdomen. She curled up into a ball, coughing. 

Her "commander" reached down and hauled her up by the front of her uniform. "Celena,_ Ce-le-na_," he said, drawing out each syllable as if relishing the bitter taste. He brought her to her feet by the front of her uniform. The distance between them was such that had she leaned forward, their lips would have met. Instead, she recoiled, and began pounding on his shoulders and arms, demanding in shrieking, violent tones that he release her. None seemed to have any effect. He shook her violently until she stopped. 

"You're letting your foolish brother bring in those sorcerers?" Dilandau screamed, emphasizing his question with another shake. 

"Yes," she whispered hoarsely, "to be rid of you. So I can forget that I ever _became_ you!" Her voice rose. "You're vile, horrid! Leave me alone! I never want to be you again!" 

Dilandau barked out an obscenity and shoved her. She stumbled backwards into his audience chair, landing hard onto the stone. Celena tried to get up, her fear motivating her to move, despite the stabbing pain that began at her tailbone and was edging its way down her legs. Dilandau was there even before she'd had the chance to take a single step, one hand pinning one of hers to the chair, the fingers of the other wrapped around her neck. 

"Running away." He giggled, tightening the grip around her neck. "It's all you're good for. Running. Running from Eliste, from Allen, from Jajuka." The giggle escalated, becoming a full fledged maniacal laugh. "But you can't run away from me! Because you _were_ me, Celena, no matter how much you want to forget!" 

Both hands moved to crush her larynx. She gasped and tried pulling at his wrists. Kicking had no effect, and the effort only seemed to increase Dilandau's elation at her expense. His laughing visage began fading away... 

Celena awoke, bolting upright to a sitting position. For some reason, she discovered she still couldn't breathe. The panic only rose when she discovered that her own hands were at her throat. 

She shakingly removed her fingers from her larynx. Bent over her covers, she tried to refill her lungs with minimal noise. She bit her knuckles, hard enough that her teeth pierced the skin. A small trickle of blood raced down her hand as her eyes widened with horror, sweat soaking her thin nightgown. She hadn't been sitting in Dilandau's shoes this time. She'd been _facing_ Dilandau, speaking to him, while he shoved her, hurt her, tried to kill her. Fleetingly, she told herself that seeing his memories, however horrific, were far more preferable. 

Something mocked her, chuckling for her ears alone. A searing flash of pain tore through the back of her eyes and ripped through all the nerves in her head. Celena gripped her comforter tight enough to make her fists turn white, and ground her teeth together. It was all she could do to keep from screaming. 

_If you want them, you can _have_ them._   



	6. Part I Remember Chapter 5

4 **[ 5 ]**

Allen, of course, questioned Celena's pallor and her tendancy to yawn throughout the morning, but the day before had been spent shopping and packing, and she convinced him those were the causes. Despite the reassurance, he was quick to notice the way her eyes glazed over at breakfast and the way she jumped whenever someone spoke to her. It crossed his mind to convince her not to go at the very last minute. He turned to her as they were walking to the carriage. 

Celena folded her arms and frowned. "Don't even start." 

Gaddes leaned to one side and smirked from the driver's seat. "Gotcha before you even opened your mouth, boss." 

Allen sighed and entered. Celena followed soon afterwards and sat across from him. Gaddes barked at the horses, the crack of a whip followed and they were on their way. Allen reached over and took his sister's hand. 

"Are you completely certain you feel all right?" he asked, gazing worriedly into her bag-heavy eyes. 

"Just anxious." She waved her free hand at him, nonchalant. "All the excitement kept me awake last night." A smile blossomed on her pretty face. 

There was no doubt Allen disbelieved her, but there was also no gain in telling him the truth. Without letting him get another word regarding the matter, Celena began firing enthusiastic questions about this, that, and everything having to do with the upcoming ceremonies. The trip would not take very long, perhaps a few hours through the countryside, parts of Pallas, and to the palace, and she would not let him for an instant think of turning the carriage around and dumping her back at the family estate. 

While she faked listening to her brother's descriptions of various figures of the royal court, she forcefully crammed down another rising throng of memories. It had taken the better part of the night before to regain her composure. Whereas before she'd had some scattered remanents of what remained of Dilandau (her eating habits, her sword skills), as well as those repeated terrifying experiences in her dreams, she'd never felt fully connected with him. It was if she'd been a forced witness, but never a participant. Now she was being filled to the brim and beyond with every sensation, visualization, and psychological turnings that had ever occured to the body that had once been hers, and hers alone. 

And now she was losing sight of where Dilandau ended and Celena began. 

Despite the overbearing headache, she discovered an eerie calm to her consciousness, as if penting up those memories had been perpetuating her Sickness. Her prime difficulty was an utter sense of disorientation. A whirlwind of visuals and emotions ran across her mind's eye, all clamoring for attention at once. Several early morning hours passed while she lay, gritting her teeth and clutching her legs to her chest, forcing herself to bear through the onslaught. Dilandau was determined to prevent his obliteration, even if it meant driving her insane. He'd forgotten, however, that through the years, Celena had managed to survive even if buried, and her resolve had strengthened since she became the dominant personality. Daylight had colored the skies by the time she'd emerged victorious, and she realized that her time spent sleeping had been sorrowfully brief. 

"...Although sometimes he occassionally drops by to give Princess Millerna a present or two. It's quite remarkable sometimes the items Dryden brings from those... far away... lands..." Allen trailed off when he noticed Celena's blank expression. She made a perfunctory nod at the end of his sentence. Frowning, he snapped his fingers in front of her eyes. 

Celena blinked at him. One instinct told her to slap the insolent dolt. The other froze, startled that she would even think of doing so. She apologized and forced out a yawn. 

"Sorry, Allen," she murmured. "I must be more tired than I thought. Do you mind if I take a nap? Things will probably be very busy at the palace." 

"Certainly, Celena." Allen smiled. "You'll need your energy." 

Allen watched as Celena nestled down in the cushioned seat. She threw him an affectionate smile before closing her eyes. He clasped gloved hands together, reflecting on how her hand had twitched in her lap, and the uncharacteristic irritation that had flashed across her face. A frown creased his lips. She was hiding something again, and it was more than some little mishap the night before. Confronting her directly could possibly be disasterous, especially if her sanity was at sake. The courier who had delivered his invitation had mentioned an invitation was also being sent to Zaibach. Allen only hoped that a Madoushi or two would be sent along with the usual pack of politicians and military figures. 

Celena felt her brother's eyes drive into her. The scrutinization was almost unbearable, but she knew that her brother wasn't fooled by any of her explanations (not to mention her "nap"). But she knew, without a doubt, that Allen would do what was best, especially since her own abilities to determine up from down was severely crippled. Regardless of all the confusion, one driving urge kept her determined to make it through this trip. 

She (he) absolutely had to see Van.   


**[ ..._end part I_ ]**


	7. Part II Movement Chapter 6

4 **[ 6 ]**

Celena was... bored. 

With all the hustle bustle surrounding her brother, Celena discovered she was included in the ceremonies only as a token appreciation to the fact that she was a Schezar. Therefore, although she'd had to learn where to stand when the procession for Van ended at the entrance of the palace (which was, unsurprisingly, right next to her brother at the end of the long line of nobles, soldiers, and gawkers), she was afterwards left to dwadle in one of the gardens with the daughters of the Asturian nobles. After a few of the girls recognized her from Allen's social gatherings, and identified her as that "strange Schezar," she was primarily left alone. Of course, some of them tried to get friendly with the Great, oh so Handsome Knight Allen Schezar's sister, but the chattering and the gossip made Celena cringe and Dilandau irritable. Neither of the responses that had popped in her head seemed very appropriate. She managed to fend them off by acting shy and quiet, and found a secluded spot where she could enjoy the scenery and discreetly listen in to the conversations. 

Other than the usual talk about who had married whom and who was _going_ to marry whom, she learned that part of the mania surrounding Fanel's visit to Asturia was an apology. Apparently the Asturian King had "mistreated" Van upon his first visit proceding the destruction of Fanelia. According to the ladies, not only had Van attacked Zaibach troops without provocation, he had courted the princess Millerna and had been rebuffed. However, Millerna had eventually re-evaluated the prospects of being married to a King (demolished country aside), and had disappeared from the palace. However, by then, Van had already by then fallen in love with some mysterious foreignor... 

The girls sighed and continued elaborating on the supposed love triangle. Nevermind the fact that Millerna had often made it clear her rather scandalous attraction to Allen; this was a far more interesting tale. Of course, Dilandau knew the true circumstances surrounding Asturia's decision to mistreat Van, which did not involve romantic encounters of any sort. 

Ignorant twits. 

Celena grimaced. The boredom was starting to add to her agitation, and broke some of the already tenuous barriers between her mind and Dilandau's. Her head pounded as she was distracted by a particular conversation. 

"...and they said that King Van has no queen yet!" 

"Oh! Then who's that cat-girl? I hear they're very very close." 

"Bah. It would be absolutely vile if the king married a beastwoman. Could you think of the children?" 

"Oh, you just want him for yourself." A chorus of giggles followed. 

"It couldn't be that bad." The voice lowered to a stage whisper. "I heard he's really an Atlantean!" 

"Oh that's just silly." 

The same voice continued, just audible to Celena's ears. "No more silly than this other one I heard." Petticoats and hardened lace shuffled as her cohorts leaned in. "That mysterious Zaibach Captain? The really handsome one that slaughtered half our troops? I hear he was really a she." 

Celena swallowed. The girls all gasped and giggled some more. 

"Now that's silly." 

"You're just saying that because you don't want it revealed you really were attracted to him!" 

The girls shrieked with laughter. She had to get out of there. The urge to begin removing those meticulously designed hair styles by ripping them from their roots was becoming far too strong, and it wasn't just Dilandau suggesting the act. 

A sudden happy chorus of squeals heralded another thankful distraction. The loud clanks and thundering footsteps from below the garden balcony spoke of a series of Guymelefs making their way to settle for the upcoming ceremonies. 

All of them clambored over to the side to gawk at the knights, including Celena. Although Dilandau scoffed at the rustic, relatively small Guymelefs (why, even the Alseides designs were far more advanced), Celena gaped. She'd never gotten a real chance to see many before her absence, and here was a whole company of them! She even lost her desire to remain inconspicuous when Scherezade came into view. 

"Allen! Allen!" she cried, waving her hands frantically, a smile blossoming on her face. 

The facial plate of Scherezade whirred and flipped open. Allen threw an affectionate look at her before resuming his duties. The other girls cast threw jealous looks in her direction. They began whispering behind their hands, trying to point out every fault of hers they could muster. Celena didn't care. It had been a long, frustrating day, and just seeing her brother made even her problems with Dilandau seem insignificant. 

After a while, Scherezade had disappeared, and the girls had resumed pointing, giggling, and making flirtatious gestures at the line of knights, both in and out of Guymelefs. Celena suddenly realized that all the attention had been directed away from her. And over there, within perhaps one hundred paces, was an open, unguarded door. 

How could she pass this up?   



	8. Part II Movement Chapter 7

4 **[ 7 ]**

_Butterfly.___

_Pretty.___

_Fly fly.___

_Catch!___

_Pretty wings. Up down up down.___

_Fly away? Want to leave me?___

_DEAD. EAT. No leaving now.___

_Look.___

_Man. I like this man. Pretty man.___

_Stretch arms. Hug? Smile.___

_Angry. Why so angry? Why?___

_Jajuka? Going inside?___

_But. Want to touch the man.___

_Madoushi man is shouting.___

_Smile. Smile...smile...___

_Table.___

_No.___

_Needles! Madoushi! PAIN!___

_NO!___

_SCREAM._   
  


Whisper. "Where is this?" 

"Centralized headquarters." 

Louder. Demanding. "Why? How did I get here?" 

"You were transported here after receiving medical attention. I believe that blow to the head during the last sparring session may have jumbled your memory." 

Pause. Thoughtful expression. "I see." Adjust clothing. Irritable. Upstart peon better watch himself. Visions of Crima Claws blasting through unguarded Guymelef backside. Smile. "Have they been assembled?" 

Nod. "We begin training tomorrow. I assume you'll want to oversee it yourself?" 

Sneer. Low, eager voice. "Of course. I want to be there to personally make sure these fools know who's their commanding officer."   
  


_Grave. Mother.___

_Sorry, mother. Sorry...___

_Brother. Princess. Smile.___

_Moth! Pretty.___

_Fly fly.___

_Catch!___

_Don't fly. Don't leave me alone.___

_Crush. Mash.___

_Open. Dead...no...___

_NO!_

"Celena?" 

What? Allen...? "_Celena_?!" 

Angry. "Wha--What is this? Are you a doppelganger?!" 

Look around. Unfamiliar! Panic! "Where am I? WHERE AM I?!" Scream. "JAJUKA!!" 

Uncloaking Guymelef. Comforting sight. "Lord Dilandau!" 

"Jajuka!" Grateful. Euphoric! 

Fading Allen. "Dilandau? Wait!"   
  


"Yo, Celena. Hey. Wake up." 

Gaddes had tried snapping his fingers, clapping, and poking. He'd found her standing in the middle of a hallway, thankfully one that few people frequented, the expression on her face vapid enough to rival a porcelain doll's. Just when Gaddes was about to full-out slap her (how he would explain that to Allen he wasn't certain; however, having her remain in such a state was not the better alternative), her mouth began twitching. Recalling her outcry at their last sparring session, he clamped a hand over it, just to be sure. 

The shock of having his palm slap against her jaw jolted Celena from her reverie. She blinked a few times, clearing away the confusion, then began flailing her arms about wildly. 

"Whoa, easy there." He released her. "I came to find you since you weren't at the garden. Van's airship is arriving and you need to go stand and look pretty." He grinned. 

Celena took a few moments to sort through the haziness. She remembered walking out of the garden, turning a corner, and discovering the castle's seemingly neverending supply of decorative rooms. As she was admiring the way the daylight streamed in through the windows, enhancing the coloration of the furniture, she'd felt a sharp pain in the back of her head, as if a string had snapped on the web she'd built to reign in her/his memories. Her vision had blurred... 

"Are you all right?" Gaddes's frowned in concern. 

"Yes," she whispered. Then, recalling her current situation, she repeated her answer, louder. "Of course! I think I must still be exhausted from yesterday." She forced out a shakey laugh. "A nap in a bumpy carriage isn't exactly restful." 

"Oh?" the Crusade commander looked wounded. "And I thought I'd driven it so smoothly." 

Celena genuinely giggled at Gaddes' morose expression. She looked up at him. Although he was smiling, concern still bent the flesh of his forehead. She drew in a shakey breath. "Gaddes," she pleaded, "if... if you see me starting to look like that again, wake me up?" Her eyes widened and her heart throbbed in panic. Should Allen, or anyone else for that matter, catch her in that state... 

He frowned. His tone gained an edge, "Celena..." 

"No! Please!" Desperation laced her words. Celena knew her sanity was deteriorating, but the thought that she may never see the King sent her anxiety spiralling. Dilandau's desires were easy enough to ascertain now that she was privy to his more inner thoughts; he was still hellbent on revenge, and for more reasons than just his scar. This insight was proving to be more and more the curse; for her own motivations and rememberances were buried in his; Dilandau had been the dominant consciousness for too long. Seeing the Fanelian King was at least a desire that they both genuinely shared, and she absolutely needed to find out why. 

Gaddes sighed. "All right, all right, can't refuse those puppy dog eyes. What's going on now, anyways?" An eyebrow arced up in curiousity. 

She bit her lip. "I promise, everything will be better later." Then, in a brighter tone, "Shouldn't we get going?" 

"Sure, little lady." Although he smiled back at her, he was unethused. This would be Big Secret Number Two he'd be keeping from Allen, and their close relationship had already been bruised by Big Secret Number One. He couldn't afford to do so again, for his sake and for Celena's. 

Gaddes led Celena down corridors and hallways that became increasingly more populated. At every corner they turned he would look back to see whether or not she was still following. Thankfully, she was, glancing at him every so often to be sure of her path, then resuming looking at everything around her with bright-eyed wonder. Other than her pallor, there was a childish innocence about her that he couldn't help appreciate. It was only in her eyes that the aura fell; for those blue depths were haunted by the knowledge of the psychopath that lay within. Gaddes only hoped Van would only see the Celena that was marvelling at an exotically decorated pheasant that was rolling by her on its way to the banquet hall. 

And not the one that had been determined to spill his innards onto the forest floor.   
  



	9. Part II Movement Chapter 8

4 **[ 8 ]**

The plan was to have Van's airship land at the harbor, then have a stately procession leading from there to the palace, with the King at the head and a score of Fanelian and Asturian military as the train. It was a plan to not only present the King as a vital figure of state, but also to help boost the morale of the people of a city which had taken a severe beating during the war. 

The words that Fanelia had used to relate his opinion regarding the whole event were somewhat less than royal. 

Celena listened with bright eyes while Millerna retold the tale. The beautiful Asturian princess folded her arms, put on an appropriately dark glare, and proceeded to mutter Van's entire dialogue word for word, some of which would have made the Crusade crewmembers blush. She completed the recital by sticking her pouting red lips forward and putting on a sullen expression that was an no doubt an exaggeration of what the King had thrown at his advisors. Celena giggled. 

"Millerna!" gasped her sister. "That was completely inappropriate!" 

"Oh, Eries," sighed Millerna, waving her hand slightly in the elder's direction. "It's just a joke." 

The three of them were waiting, rather impatiently, at what would be the end of the procession. "Well, to finish what I was saying," Millerna continued, "it was lucky that Allen was there to convince Van to do this. I think it's a wonderful excuse to have a festival!" 

Celena couldn't help notice how Millerna gushed at the mention of her brother's name. It hadn't escaped her more asture sister's eye either. Upon their introduction, Celena had been taken aback by the stark difference between them. It began with Gaddes' gallant introduction; a gentle kiss onto a gloved hand. Eries had given him the proper headnod befitting the social difference between her and the mere airship commander, whereas Millerna had rather shamelessly offered him a coy smile and some batting eyelashes. The handsome man had grinned mischieviously back, while the elder sister glared balefully at him from one side. 

Celena was introduced next, along with the regret that Sir Allen was not there to do so himself. At that time she was free to drink in the sweet peach and white ruffled ensemble that Millerna had decorated herself with (including ribbons in her hair and matching jewels), and blanch at the dark grey and pale green that Eries had dumped on. She'd even completed the nunnish look by bundling her hair into a plain white hat, leaving only her gold-adorned ears exposed. Celena, despite her short hair and relatively plain sky blue dress (although anyone looked plain next to the radiant Millerna), looked more like a princess in comparison. 

Eries' lips had been pressed into a thin line. "When is Dryden returning again, Millerna?" 

The younger woman frowned and turned her nose up into the air at the mention of her estranged husband. "Oh, I don't know." Her tone held an undercurrent of regret, hidden admist a feigned annoyance. "He mentioned that he may drop in for the festival. Who knows." She thrust her wrist in front of Celena's face. "Look! Isn't it just splendid? He brought it to me from Zaibach! It's just wonderful that we can trade with them now." 

"It's very nice, Miss Millerna," Celena murmured, flinching slightly. The bracelet's design integrated a complex pattern with gold overlaying silver in a manner that was unique to Zaibach's advanced artistry tools. Despite the beauty, it reminded her a bit too well of the other metalworking technology that Zaibach prided itself in: Guymelef production. 

Millerna lifted a delicately shaped eyebrow at Celena's reaction. She'd been privy to Celena's secret almost immediately after it had been fatefully discovered by Allen and her sister, and she'd worried what might have become of her since settling home. The beloved Knight had spoken with her at far-spread intervals, and at those times he'd only had brief respites to hold the conversation. The words from him had been that his sister had been doing well. Despite his smile and his assurance, Millerna had read the concern in his shortened smile and lowered tone, but there had never been enough time to explore the issue further. Upon learning of the whole upcoming affair concerning Van, she wondered, and worried, about how much of Dilandau would be attending. 

Celena was proving to be rather sane, although quieter than the other bimbos that had been dragged along with their influential fathers (Gaddes had quipped that he and his other fellows were having bets on how many of them it would take to drive Van crazy at the ball later. Gaddes had bet 3; Millerna bet 2). Her medical instincts had also picked up Celena's exhaustion, which she guessed to be from lack of sleep. Or was it something more...? 

A fanfare blared from a short distance away, and a chorus of hearty cheers immediately followed. Millerna threw away all her apprehension and grabbed Celena's wrist, pulling her for the gates. "They're here!" she cried. "Let's go and watch!" 

Celena let out a small squeek in protest, then allowed Millerna to haul her forward. She tried to convince herself that it was the excitement that had her heart pounding against her ribs, but she couldn't deny the fear the laced her veins. They stopped at the entrance of the palace, where Allen and the rest of the royal entourage were waiting to greet the Fanelian King. Eries arrived a few moments later in a far more dignified walking manner. The younger princess took the prominent position as representative of the Asturian royal family, the elder stood behind as the secondary representative, and Celena stood behind her brother as she was told. The Knight gave her an affectionate smile, which she responded to in kind. 

The fanfares were becoming increasingly louder. Great cheers of greeting and celebration burst and expanded, annoucing to the smaller group where in Pallas Van was currently walking. 

It all suddenly faded from Celena's view... 

_Even through the mists I can see that despised figure, his red shirt leading the way like a beacon. It would perfectly marvelous to break open the skin underneath and watch the blood of a King spread across the floor. Make him pay for the bite of his dragon...___

_...He's not even looking, the fool. Up on the skywalk the Strategos shouts. Even sweeter. Would the little boy's last thoughts be of how his brother betrayed his own country? How dear Folken let me murder its children, allow his soldiers rape its women, command our Guymelefs to burn its proud buildings to dust and powder?___

_I have him!___

_...Damn bitch.___

_I hate you...I'll watch your rich blood pool at my feet. I'll let all the soldiers on Vione taste your woman before I roast her alive. I'll--___

_No...___

_My face...___

_MY FACE!_

Celena's eyes widened, and her right hand quivered as it moved to cover the right side of her jaw. Her mouth dropped slightly in astonishment. 

A man riding a chestnut horse, closely followed by a combined group of proud Fanelian samurai and elegant Asturian soldiers, broke into view admist another round of fanfares and cheers. From a distance, all that could be made out was a suit of dark armour, the chest plate tan and emblazoned with a white and blue insignia. Red tassles quivered slightly in the spring breeze. Dark blue plates covered his arms and forelegs, while a brown shirt and pair of white pants engulfed the rest of him. A pitch black mop, unstyled and hectic from the wind, topped the rough combination, obscuring most of his facial features. The Fanelian King looked more dressed for war than for a political reception. 

Celena's breath quickened. 

_...Small flying ship___

_...almost there...___

_almost have the dragon...___

_almost have him...___

_Dragon dropping from the sky, landing as the grand Guymelef. Advancing Dragonslayers. Outnumbered! Our triumph, OUR victory.___

_Slaughter.___

_Not him. Us. US!___

_They're dying, crying, begging for mercy, for help!___

_Chesta! Gatti! Viole!___

_..no..NO..___

_Help them HELP ME alone alone no one else he's___

_THERE he wants ME___

_he'll violate me he's coming COMING___

_he's stopped. he's screaming...___

_...no no no GET AWAY GET AWAY GET AWAY GET AWAY___

_HE'S HERE AGAIN!___

_HE'LL DESTROY ME!_

Eries' deceptively calm eyes followed Celena's hand from her side to her cheek, then fixed upon her face as the color drained. To the unknowning observer it seemed as if she was merely staring in childish wonder at the approaching King and his followers, but Eries knew better. Her frown deepened. She looked up at Allen. He was ignorant of the turmoil beside him, eyes focused on his approaching friend. She turned, gestured slightly at a palace guard and whispered in his ear. 

Van hopped off his horse at the foot of the palace entrance admist the rapidly decrescendoing cries of the Asturian populace. He ascended the steps at a moderate pace, one hand on the sword at his side. 

_Kill him first..._

Allen took a few steps down to greet him, their hands clasped in greeting. A smile of delighted recognition broke on the two men's faces. The people once again bellowed out their appreciation, for two of the heroes of the War of Destiny were now face to face in front of them; the Knight and the Wayward Boy King, like some fanciful picture from a folktale. Their personal words of greeting were lost among the cheers. 

_...before he kills YOU._

"Stop it," Celena commanded herself, her voice lost among the cacophony. She forced her hand down from her face and back to its proper position at her side, her eyelids smashing shut in the effort to push Dilandau into the back of her mind. 

Admist the quieting clamor, Millerna managed to cry out the proper greeting to the royal visitor. "King Van Slanzar de Fanel! As representative of the Asturian royal family, I, Princess Millerna Sara Aston, welcome you to our country." 

"Thank you," came the short, gruff answer. 

"Ah, Van!" Allen exclaimed. The soft slide of her brother's hand on her back jolted Celena out of her reverie, causing her to stumble forward. She stared at the ground, the blood rushing to her face in embarressment. 

"This is my sister, Celena." Allen shot Van a warning look. He'd warned him ahead of time that they'd been trying to hide Celena's alterego, as well as the decreasing stability of her mental state, but he was uncertain about how Van would react to her in person. 

Celena swallowed, thrust aside all apprehension, and shot her head up to gaze at the man before her. She gasped. 

Van stood before her not as a king, but as a battle-hardened soldier, one hand hovering naturally over his sword-hilt. He was slightly taller than she was, but still not quite to her brother's height, and the frame underneath the worn armour was beginning to show hints of broadening beyond the boyish, lanky young body. A simple blush teardrop pendant, tapering softly at the bottom in gold, hung from his neck, clashing with the sharp edges to the Fanelian insignia on his chest. 

Despite the oddity, it was Van's eyes that held her. They were piercing with a combination of emotions that battered at both of the personalities swirling within her. He hated Dilandau, the signs hidden in the stiff setting of his frown and the twitch of the fingers over his sword-hilt. The urge to respond to his unspoken desire to destroy rushed the adrenaline into her veins. Even so, another emotion held her at bay, tearing through Dilandau's desire to thrust himself at the King and throttle him with his bare hands. 

Love. 

It was bitter, flavoured with angst, despair, and loss. From the bottom of their souls it came, even though they understood the true objects of their affections were lost to them, perhaps forever. 

Through the terror and the confusion, Celena responded the only way she could. 

She ran.   
  



	10. Part II Movement Chapter 9

4 **[ 9 ]**

Astonished, Allen watched his sister flee. She plowed through two men carrying flags in honour of Asturia and Fanelia before disappearing into the castle. He began to doubt his decision to allow Celena to accompany him, damning himself for ignoring his misgivings. He began an apology, and was cut short by Millerna's hand on his arm. She was staring pointedly at his friend. 

Van was staring beyond the flag bearers (who had resumed their dignified positions) into the the grand portal that had swallowed the woman that had once commanded the most elite of the Zaibach forces. Allen knew a lovesick expression when he saw one, although it was baffling why his friend would be directing such a look towards not only someone he barely knew, but someone whom he had every reason to despise. 

"King Fanelia," Millerna said gently, "maybe we should escort you to your room?" 

"Oh." With great effort, Van tore his gaze away from the door and looked up at the princess. "Right." 

While the Asturian and Fanelian guards saluted and dispersed, along with the commoners, to ecstatically take part of the festivities, the royal entourage headed for the guest quarters. Allen exchanged baffled, worried looks with Millerna. 

"I've taken care of it. Please don't worry," Eries whispered quietly in Allen's ear. He raised an eyebrow at Eries' presumptuous act, but to question a royal family member in full view of the public eye was unbefitting a mere Royal Guardman, no matter how heroic. 

While Van's face began to harden over with the stoic mask required of his station, Millerna began to fill the King's ears with this, that, and everything about the upcoming festivities. She continued prattling on like a little girl as they strode into the palace, distracting anyone that might have been dwelling on the oddities of the last few moments. The fact that she could act nonchalant in the midst of Celena's abrupt departure was an unheard reminder that what had happened had not been seen. 

Allen stole glances at Van while they travelled the corridors. His outward appearance remained dutifully as it should, but his eyes were glazed. He nodded appropriately, responded functionally, but his thoughts were clearly not on Millerna's current discription of the exquisite ballroom that had been constructed to not only entertain dignitaries, but to house prized Guymelefs as well. 

A frown deepened on his handsome face. He remembered a young woman from a foreign land, vibrant, full of love and energy, whose innocence and unique beauty reminded him so much of she who he'd lost so long ago that his heart had been captured.   
  
  


Celena ran mindlessly through the twists and turns of the palace, feuled by fear. The delightful porcelains and color wall hangings that had so fascinated her before fused into a tearful blur. She had care for neither human or object, and fleetingly she wondered how many maids she'd shoved or pots she'd broken. Eventually, the bright, populated environment gave way to gray and black. She tripped on a hard stair, the back of her gown tearing, but this was only a momentary delay. On she continued, her heart slamming against her ribs, begging her to stop and at least catch a decent breath. But she couldn't, she had to get away. She couldn't face those eyes again. 

At the top of the staircase her body finally won the battle, collapsing itself onto the cold, stone floor. Violent sobs wracked her thin frame. Overwhelming her was a profound sense of misery and loss, the source of which was barely identifiable. 

"Folken," she whispered, the name fleeing from the depths of her soul to escape from her lips. The name was a frustrating mystery. But to Dilandau, the man was Strategos to the Zaibach empire, intelligent and respectable, but entirely too wrapped up in meandering with scientific garbage to be a proper soldier. That and he'd kept the company of far too many strange, loathesome associates. For instance, that disgusting shape-shifter he'd had to deal with personally. 

"Now that thing was even more disgusting than you are." 

Celena scrambled to her feet and stumbled out into the open. A short glance around told her that somehow she'd ended up on the balcony of one of the castle towers. The sun was just beginning to make its descent into the hillsides, painting the sky with brilliant red and orange hues. Dilandau, comfortably clothed in his Dragonslayer Commander's unform, leaned against a nearby pillar and looked up wistfully at the fiery color array. "Ah," he murmured, an eager smile stretching his lips, "that reminds me of things I wish I were doing right now. Don't you agree?" 

Panting, Celena leaned against a pillar, exhaustion causing her legs to quiver uncontrollably. "No, I don't." 

He continued to gaze at the sky. "I see. Why, that would explain why you didn't crack open that lovesick shit's head on the ground like he deserved." Dilandau's gleaming red eyes and feral smile widened even more. "Why, it would have been perfect to see his brains oozing onto the parapet in front of all the little soldiers and all his little friends." His voice lowered to an eager whisper. "My heart pounds just with the thought of it!" 

Through his shrieking cackle, Celena found the strength to shout, "I won't do it! You can't make me!" 

Dilandau whirled on her, suddenly furious. "Why? Because you think you _love_ him?" He gripped her by the shoulders and shoved her hard against a pillar. "Understand _this_. I hate him! HATE HIM!" 

She stared at him, barely breathing, too frightened to move. He leaned in close, peering malevolently into her wide, blue eyes. "But you think you love _Folken_, don't you? I wonder why. What sort of revolting trysts did you two have behind my back?" 

At that, Celena became angry. No matter how transparent her memories were, the emotions that had been felt were still prevalent. How dare he stain the memory of the man she'd loved! She wriggled one arm out of his grip and did the unthinkable. 

_SMACK._

The feel of her hand against his cheek was satisfying, and for a moment she felt triumphant. They both stood still, frozen in the aftermath of the motion. Dilandau's head slowly twisted its way back towards her direction. Before then, she didn't think a look so insanely furious could exist on a human face. 

"How. Dare. You." 

"I'm sorry?" she whispered weakly. She struggled, trying to do everything in her power to free her remaining arm, but the leather encased hand around her wrist had tightened to the point where blood could no longer flow. The Dragonslayer Commander's free hand slowly pulled backwards, the fingers wrapping into a fist. Celena threw her free arm up to protect herself, screaming in pain and desperation. 

Surprisingly, Dilandau released her and put his hands over his ears. His face took on a remarkably comical, worried expression, and his knees knocked together. "Aiii! Stop it! What did I do?" 

Celena gaped at his suddenly high-pitched voice. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head a few times. When she looked again, Dilandau had disappeared. A beastwoman, dressed in the simple marked tunic that marked the young of the cat-tribes, was staring at her curiously. 

"Allen's sister, right?" she quipped. Her paw-like hands were now folded behind her back and her nose was quivering quizzically in Celena's direction. "Are you all right?" 

"Yes," she said, rubbing her bruised wrist. "I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else." 

The cat-girl apparently had little sense of subtlety; her narrowed eyes and o-shaped mouth were blatant signs that she did not believe Celena's statement. 

"Riiiight. Who were you talking to then?" 

"Me?" Celena pointed to herself and attempted to look innocent. "Oh, no one! Just, you know, remembering lines from my favourite, uhm, play." _And if you buy that, I have a flying fortress to sell you._

"I seeee." _Boy, Allen's sister is wierd! And she smells funny. Like Guymelefs and fear and flowers all at the same time. _"Well, Princess Eries' sent me to get you. She said that you got lost." 

"Thank you, Miss." 

"It's Merle." She smirked mischeviously. "Lady Merle! Don't forget the 'Lady' part." 

Celena mustered up all her remaining pride and stared the impudent beast woman down. Dilandau whispered softly in her ear, echoing aloud her inner thoughts. "What an obnoxious thing. I really should teach her a lesson. Perhaps dangle her by her tail over the balcony wall. What do you say?" 

A mixture of frustration, fright, and irritation mingled on Celena's face. Merle's ears perked up at the strange expression. "Eh? Did you eat something funny?" She wandered closer to get a closer olfactory perception. 

"Hey! Stop that! It tickles!" 

"Ew." Merle pinched her own nose and waved a paw in front of it. "You reek! Did you even think to bathe this morning?" 

"Of course I did!" 

The cat-girl bent at the waist to get a closer inspection of Celena's dress. "Everthing's wrinkly and ripped. I bet you were running." 

Celena cringed. "So?" 

"Oh no!" Merle gasped and wrung her hands. "Are you going to start having visions?" she wailed. "And saying wierd things? And playing with funny looking cards?" 

Celena was absolutely baffled. "What in the world are you talking about?" 

"Oh, nothing," Merle mewed. "Let's go! I have to take you to your room so you can get clean and look somewhat decent. Don't get _lost_ again," she added under her breath. 

Celena followed the kitten down the tower stairs and through the maze of extravagent royal decor. Neither of them spoke during the journey, although there was significant time to spark a conversation, due to the troubled plays of their own thoughts. Celena was preoccupied with keeping Dilandau at bay. Whispering taunts promising violent thrills were starting to become tempting, but she managed to force him back. Barely. 

Merle's hackles were rising steadily. The guardsman had illustrated Eries' desire that Merle not mention Van's name when fetching Allen's sister, as well as a brief necessary description, but there were some very important other details that she felt had been left out. 

That ugly short hair. That ditzy, clueless demeanor. That rude manner! Why, if it wasn't for the fact that she looked like Allen, she might as well be escorting Hitomi!   



	11. Part II Movement Chapter 10

4 **[ 10 ]**

The ballroom for the occassion had been constructed with such delicious skill that nobles felt it necessary to point out the fact to the Princesses upon the beginning of every conversation. Even after the twentieth similar remark, the two sisters continued to agree that the architect they'd commissioned had truly done a wonderful job. 

From the main entrance, one could sample practically all the sights that were to beheld. A high, windowed ceiling let in both light from the sun and the pair of moons, lending a magical aura at night to a room moderately lit by slender, golden candlebras. The white alabaster that arced down from the ceiling met a small strip of simple plaster border, from which dropped walls decorated at precise intervals with a combination of both new and old tapestries. Emanating from these silk paintings were the spirits of men and women from vital moments in Asturian history; the oldest depicting the first King stabbing the ground that would later house the royal palace, the newest of Alliance and Zaibach Guymelefs and soldiers standing in friendship and triumph while a white dragon flew overhead. 

Van stared at that one the longest. 

Between the tapestries alternated unopened, high crystal windows and opened windowed doors. Noblemen and women of all the Allied countries (which now included a few black-cloaked Madoushi) mingled amongst magnificent marble pillars that swirled with subtle blues and greens. Their expensive shoes walked upon polished stone floors, some of which was covered with rugs exotically sewn with patterns of dragons, a gift of the young Duke of Fried to his friends and family. On the far end, solemnly watching over the festivities, their polished armour and swords glinting slightly in the pale candlelight, were selected Guymelefs from each Allied country. Noticeably empty was the middle throne that had been reserved for Fanelia's royal instrument, Escaflowne. Even though they had suggested replacing the dormant Guymelef with one from the country's _samurai_ legions, the King had refused, quietly adding that his brother would have preferred the vacancy. 

Flanking the empty space were the only other Guymelefs that could have rivaled Escaflowne in size. On the right sat Scherezade, the golden insignia on its blue cloak gleaming from the shadows. On the left sat a Zaibach Oreades model, officer class, made in deep blue and gray metals. 

Celena's breath caught in her throat when she saw the hulking machination looming down at her. Her hands shook, _vino_ dribbling onto her knuckles. If only they had been thoughtful enough to provide one in his personal reds... 

She forced herself out of Dilandau's musings, spinning away from the looming reminder of her (his) past, only to spill the remainder of her drink onto a black cloak. The man turned to catch her, grabbing the glass before it could shatter upon the stones. 

"Are you all right, miss?" 

At the polite query, Celena looked up. Dread filled her heart at the familiar sight of the dark clasps and overlays that marked a Zaibach Madoushi from the rest of the crowd. The man was middle aged, of a slight build, and clearly had been handsome at one point. However, stress had etched fine lines around his eyes and mouth, and a pair of thin spectacles aged him even further. Long brown hair was neatfully tied back, some of which stubbornly sprouted out at the top, the remainder spilling down one shoulder. Her mind's eye brightened the color of his hair, removed the glasses and the creases, deepened the voice... 

"I'm fine, thank you." 

"Were you admiring the craftmanship?" The Madoushi looked up wistfully at the Oreades. "I admit, we really don't need such symbols of war anymore, although sometimes it serves as quite the reminder. Doesn't it, young lady?" He turned, only to find an empty space. Confused, he swiftly scanned the immediate crowd, only to see her silvery mop retreating towards one of the doorways. 

"It's her, isn't it?" 

He turned to his female companion. Despite the festivities, and his urging, she'd refused to put on more tasteful attire and instead remained in her Guymelef pilot's uniform. He patted her shoulder, mindful of the spike that jutted out from the shoulderpad. "Yes, my dear. We will need to watch her carefully." 

The tall woman nodded, looking through the thick crowd of noblemen and royalty at Celena's retreating form. "This is dangerous. I should have been allowed my sword." 

"With the bond between these countries as shakey as it is?" He chuckled. "No, if he is truly still a danger, I have taken my own precautions." 

Van's eyes had followed Celena much of the night, in between being introduced to a few of the rather comely daughters of his peers. After the third girl (some painted second daughter of a portly Egzardian politician trying to weed his way into international circles), he muttered something halfway polite and began shoving his way through the crowd. 

(In a far corner, Gaddes whispered a small cry out triumph, and a crew of gentlemen who looked distinctly uncomfortable admist the refinery handed him their bet money.) 

Allen watched Van from the middle of the room. Surrounded by fawning dignitaries, their proposals and praises, he was unable to do anything other than smile and nod where he stood. The Asturian princesses, noticing his distress and their guest's sudden disappearance, were likewise trapped. All three silently cursed both their honour and their luck. 

Van ignored the gibbering protests of the offended Egzardian and started shoving his way through the crowd. A few moved out of his way instantly, recognizing the face of the Fanelian king. Others had to be prompted by their fellows or pushed aside. These men and women turned their noses instantly at the ragged looking boy. In his unwillingness to decorate himself in a "kingly" manner (amongst all manner of objections from his friends and advisors), Van had simply worn what was comfortable to him; a sleeveless red tunic laced at the top, his pale slacks, leather boots, and the teardrop pendant. 

His heart pounded. It had been little over a year since he'd watched Hitomi disappear into the column of light. Each passing day made the ache in his heart grow a little more. There were times he thought he could see her standing with him in his personal chambers. Sometimes she was dressed in Millerna's gown, bringing back that one awkward moment that she had taken his breath away, sometimes she was in that strange short pleated skirt and jacket that she often preferred. He would tell her everything; how Fanelia was being recontructed, how Merle was growing, the troubles with his new responsibilities, how he missed her, how he wished he could touch her, how he wished that he could have done what was right more often while they had been together... 

Her eyes would gaze at him lovingly, and she would nod sympathetically. When he would speak of that which could have been, she would become sad and turn away. He would reach out to gather her into his arms, to comfort her, to meet his lips on hers, and the apparition would disappear, leaving him only to his empty room of stone and wood. Merle would always be there afterwards. Her soft arms would wrap around his body, closing him in a tight embrace while the tears quietly fell. Only she knew of these late night moments, when the legendary boy King who'd rebuilt his country from ashes and rubble gave in to his loneliness and regret. 

So when Celena's beauty took his breath away and stopped a pulse that had been racing with a buried anger, he nearly screamed aloud. What would all those moments of pain be worth if he found himself adoring that which he had sworn to hate? 

Van clenched his fists and continued pushing his way through the seemingly endless throng of perfumed emissaries. He had to speak with her, if only to see the sneer n her face, hear the malicious tones that had to be in her voice, and gaze into eyes that would reveal the ugliness that lay within. Then he could deny lump in his throat and the ache in his heart. 

There would be no way he would let himself love Dilandau Albatou.   
  
  


A large group of more than slightly inebriated guests had congregated near the doorway Celena had been heading towards and had closed off any chance for escape. Their expressions were dark, and the lips that met the _vino_ were pressed into thin lines. Obviously some of the dignitaries were rather disgruntled from being pressed into the same room as their former enemies and current rivals. 

As her hand reached out to make a polite request for room, a small commotion erupted to her left. She looked over, where a crude looking young man dressed in an outlandishly casual tunic and pants was roughly making his way through sparkling dresses and expensive coats. A few brief moments passed before she was able to recognize the teardrop pendant swinging from his neck and the reddish black eyes that were bearing down on her like two sharp shot arrows. 

She had to get away. 

Desire for subtlety pushed aside by panic, she toppled a wigged Asturian councilmember and the robed Daedalian he was flirting with, neatly twirled to avoid a _vino_-bearing maid, and began winding her way through the maze of conversing gentlemen and women. She made her pathway erratic, going every which way she could, hoping to lose her pursuer. Yet every time she turned she caught the strange gleam of his signature pendant. She peered through the gap between a through a few tightly knit Basramlic scientists (slightly chilled by their nonchalant conversation concerning experimentations on small live mammals), finally finding what she'd hoped was an unlocked door. She began shoving her way through. 

Warm fingers, calloused and strong, wrapped around her upper forearm. She turned, praying to all the gods that it was not who she thought it was, and her breath stopped. Their eyes met. All the conversation, music, the clinking of glasses, the shuffle of expensive cloth faded under the low throbbing of her heart. His mouth opened, to condemn her or to adore her she did not know... 

...And remained that way, the words frozen in his throat. 

Those eyes of hers! Just as arresting to a man's heart as Allen's were to a woman's, full of passion and beauty, set into a narrow, heart-shaped face that was soft on the edges and angled only in the nose. Her lips were neither full nor thin but made to look perfectly appropriate for her other features, correct for speaking, enough for kissing. Her dress, Asturian style, was tight at the top and bloomed into a skirt below, exposing the roundness of her breasts and the smallness of her waist, but leaving questionable the shape of her legs. The pale, exposed arm was soft to the touch, but hard within, which meant that unlike the flowery, giddy maids that he'd had the displeasure of meeting earlier, she was no stranger to physical exertion. To Van, everything was so wonderously inviting. He began to draw her closer. 

Fear blurred the beauty, for it was then that he saw what he'd originally hoped for. The emotion in her eyes became touched by the hints of a malicious intent, burning with a hate that was all too recognizable. The shapely lips curled minutely, further blackening her appearance, as the psychotic within struggled to come to fore. 

The interplay of desire and hate made the Van's face blur before her eyes while the remainder of the room swirled in the background. She fought tears of pain and frustration and tried pulling her arm away. "My Lord Van," she said, her voice surprisingly cold and steady, "did you need something of me? If you are looking for my brother, he is over there." 

"I'm not looking for him," he returned. 

Celena thought he sounded almost... disheartened. A snarl was Dilandau's only appraisal. She lowered her voice, conscious of a few people who had started to discreetly eavesdrop on what appeared to be Van's advancement on a possible candidate. "You are making a scene, my lord. Release my arm." 

"You'll run again." 

Celena swallowed. It had crossed her mind. She raised her tone. "I apologize for my rudeness earlier, my lord. Are you interested in my hand by chance? If so, you'll need to talk to my--" Van jerked her forward suddenly, bringing their faces within a handspan's of each other. From one side she heard the stifled, horrified gasp of a hopeful queen-to-be. "--brother," she finished, her tone barely above a whisper. 

"Who are you really?" he hissed. 

"I don't understand the question," she responded, much louder than was necessary. Her (his) anger was becoming more difficult to restrain. Dilandau grinned triumphantly, his fingers breaking through the fraying barrier between their minds. "Let go of me this instant." 

Van's voice rose as well. He hadn't meant to goad her this far, but now that he'd started he didn't know how to stop. If she was -- if she still IS him -- he needed to prove it. Then, he could be finally disgusted with her, be done with this whole ridiculous infatuation, and return to thinking about the woman who truly mattered. "You know damn well what I mean." Unconsciously, he tightened the grip around her arm. Those nearest to them were blatantly staring at the outlandish conversation, creating a steadily growing bubble of silence with Van and Celena at the center. "Answer me!" 

Celena backhanded him. 

The crack of knuckle meeting cheekbone reverberated in a room that had become empty of sound only moments before. There was none of the prim and proper manner that a lady's slap would have entailed. This was a blow blessed with skill born of practise, and the explosion of a fury which had waited long for release. Van's rolled with the blow, staggering when he could have fallen, his mouth filling with the coppery taste of his own blood. He regained his footing, then stumbled a few steps backwards when Celena screamed. 

Those eyes that had captivated him only minutes before were now wide and crazed, and he could swear that their blue depths had begun to redden. Tears were finding ragged pathways down her cheeks. Tufts of hair sprouted between fingers whose grasp destroyed the once elegant style. She screamed again, and fell to her knees. Van, as well as any nobleman or woman within arm's reach of her, stepped back in horror. 

"Stop it, STOP IT!!" 

_You really don't know, do you? You don' t know what he's done to me!_

A bright sword flashed. Pain seared up her right jaw. 

_The least of his transgressions._

Bloodcurdling screams filled her ears. Familiar boys' voices howled for aide and mercy, only to be cut off by the roar of flame-engulfed chemicals. 

"No! No! Don't let me see!" 

_What about him? He who we both cared for...?___

_...Not Folken..._

A kind face filled her vision, comforting to the both of them, smiling that wide, unusual way that only his people could. He held her when others were abusing her, stroking away tears of terror and loss, always understanding, being there when nearly no one else was, an affirmation that there was something else out there that was better than this... 

He was loyal. Immeasureably loyal. Without the Strategos to direct him, with his Dragonslayers to idolize him, there was no one except for him. One lone beastman under his command, but one wealthy in skill. Under the obedient exterior was there, perhaps, a note of compassion...? 

...And now he was crying out his last, desperate words. They echoed from the tiny speaker inside the Guymelef's chamber. _Change back! Go back to that sweet girl you once were! _Then that roar, the same one that had taken his compatriots... Escaflowne's terrible form approaching, suddenly blockaded by the swirl of a dark blue cape... 

...Jajuka... 

_...Jajuka..._

Sadness and anger colored the chilling shriek that burst from Celena's lips. She hunched over. Van took a few hesitant steps forward, horrified that he had been the catalyst to whatever fit she was having. He put a hesitant hand on her shoulder, then immediately snatched it back. Onlookers gasped, and someone called out for a doctor. 

"By all the gods, let me through!" Allen desperately tried to get past the throng of gaping emissaries without being impolite, but most were unwilling to let go of a view to a most fascinating dilemma. After a few moments he lost all sense of propriety, and began shoving men and women out of his way. Someone began shouting for the castle guards. The elder princess began cajoling those that took offense, while the younger raced through the path left by the panicked war hero. 

At Van's touch, Celena's shoulders expanded and retracted, almost as if she had taken an impossibly deep breath. Her dress ripped, as well as the corset underneath, exposing the pale flesh of her back. The king marvelled at the tone, wondering how a girl so delicate looking could have muscles that rivalled his, although he could swear that the general size of her had grown. Something inside of him cried warning, but he was far too immersed in guilt to notice. Celena grew suddenly calm, releasing her hair to transfix a gaze on her hands as if seeing them for the first time. 

"C-Celena," Van stammered, trying to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay--" 

A hand shot out and grasped his neck. He was pulled upwards, choking, the torn remanents of Celena' gown falling away to reveal a young man's hardened chest. 

"Vannn..." Dilandau whispered, relishing the ability to vocalize the abomination. His mouth stretched in an eager, bloodthirsty smile. "I'm feeling quite well, thank you."   
****

**[ ..._end part II_ ]**   



	12. Part III Folken Chapter 11

4 **[ 11 ]**

He sat on the bed in the room they'd given him, with its walls of metal and floors of stone, and contemplated his rebirth. After all, what else could be called? Rescued from the brink of death, granted a new body, a new focus, and a new allegiance; he was now what he once was in name only, and not in spirit. 

At least, that's what he'd been telling himself. 

It was more difficult than he thought. Not the studies that they'd thrust upon him. He'd devoured these magics -- no, these "sciences" hungrily, surpassing others in the school around his age with ridiculous ease, earning for himself a name to be whispered jealously on the lips of both his colleagues and his superiors. A potential problem, but not nearly as pressing as the one currently before him. 

The loss of home. 

A responsibility unfulfilled. 

Mother. Brother. 

They were thousands of miles away, mourning the death that he'd never experienced. Sometimes he'd pick up a quill, set it to parchment, the words of apology and regret beginning to form. Then he'd see the silver glint in the candlelight, a forever reminder of what was not to be, and the words would blur, then dissolve, leaving him to stare at a paper with nothing more than the first upswept beginnings of a letter (perhaps a name, perhaps a greeting). His hands would tremble, and he'd sweep the unfinished thing to the floor, later picked up by one of this place's many unseen workers. It had been a while, though, since he'd tried, and both the Emperor and his teachers were busy thrusting theory after theory at him, testing his mettle, demanding that he draw up some sort of schematic for this or that and the gods be damned if someone else had asked for something else first. 

Schematic... 

He stood, walked to the desk, and picked up the beginnings of one of the Emperor's requests (which, of course, took precedence over any of the others). A Guymelef, this time, with capabilities unforeseen by any Gaean country. There was one thing that was always lacking, he speculated, in the models back home. It was so difficult to see through the protective grates that were allocated in order to protect the pilot, and therefore left him blindsided to attacks from either the far right or the far left. What if there was a way to get around using human sight? Perhaps something else to even enhance it...? 

His mind twisted and molded his new learning into physical possibilities onto the rich parchment. As of yet, he knew not enough of what they called "physics" and "chemistry" to put any of his theories to work, but the basics and his own intuition were enough to start speculating. It was a thankful, if impermanent, distraction from the haunts of his past. 

Then there was a small creak, the sound of his door opening carefully. The intruder scrambled for his bed and shuffled underneath. For a moment he attributed it to rats; they had been quite common where the rooms were furnished with stone and wood, but then he realized that with this place's need for sterilization, and the tightly fused metal walls, there were no rodents. 

He stood with a great commotion, pounding the mattress with one hand, hoping to startle the unwelcome visitor. "Who's there?" he demanded. 

No answer. 

Rather than take the chance of being surprised, he grabbed the side of his meager bed with one hand, slamming the furniture vertically against the wall, and grabbed for the intruder with his other. He'd been prepared to yell and fight, but what met his eyes shocked him to silence. 

It was a girl. She couldn't have been more than five or six; she still bore some of her baby fat. The face was sweet, a touch of rose on each of the cheeks, framed by silvery blonde locks had been shorn so that the bottom of the curls graced the shoulders of her simple blue gown. She lifted a finger up to her lips. 

He shook his head. "No one will hear us. What are you doing here?" 

"I'm playing hide and go seek." 

He blinked in confusion. Who could possibly be doing such a thing in here? The other residents were either students too young to be thinking of children, or instructors too single-minded to think beyond their work. "From who, little one?" 

"From my invisible friend." She spoke candidly, using that berating voice children use when adults ask questions that had such obvious answers. "He can be kind of mean when he wins, so I'm not going to let him this time." Her feet dangled in the air and she began to casually swing them back and forth. 

He smiled. The child had no fear at all, even though she had an incredibly close view of his unique disfigurement. "And what is his name?" 

She smiled happily at the thought of he who must have been the most wonderful person in the world. The little mouth opened and drew in a large breath of air to appropriately make such an important announcement.   
  
  


"Dilandau..." 

Van regretted the momentary release of precious oxygen the moment it left his mouth. The fingers around his neck were surprisingly nimble, finding painpoints on his neck that he couldn't believe existed. Through the blood roaring in his ears he heard muffled screams and several bellows for the royal guardsmen. Only three sounds were distinct through the din; Allen's desperate pleas, Millerna's shrill commands, and his attacker's triumphant laugh. His pull on Dilandau's wrists yielded no results, serving only to drain what little strength remained. Blackness closed in. 

Salvation was, thus, nearly too late, and whoever yielded the blow was curiously unidentifiable. All that could be seen was the flash of a tall figure wrapped in dark blue. A sweet gust of air then swept into his unsuspecting lungs, and a coughing fit ensued. Gentle hands caught him and laid him slowly onto the ground. His eyes became filled with pain induced tears, and thus his second benefactor also became a mystery. 

Allen roared over the din - "VAN! CELENA!" - while continuing to shove his way through the fleeing masses. He'd already barked orders to the arriving palace guards to keep the guests calm and demand that they remain where they were. Unfortunately, the gentry had decided that either they had the right to know right now who had let such a diseased individual into their presence or that they had the right to be let loose from the premises with all possible haste. As a result, Allen found himself being pulled left and right by emissaries who had reached the conclusion that the Hero of the Knights had all the answers. Frustrated, both Eries and Millerna began sending them bit by bit back to their guest chambers under armed escort. 

"Boss!" Gaddes waved frantically, wedged unfortunately between a few bulky Cesarian knights (who were trying to help calm down their fellows as best they could). "Celena, she's--" 

"Gods, no!" Allen cried, tearing through the dignitaries with a renewed vigor towards where he'd last seen his foolish friend. He feared what Gaddes' panicked expression implied, and if Van had a hand in its doing he planned on tearing the King apart. He dove between several fleeing men and women to find the back of a slick armored Zaibach uniform. The soldier had a struggling figure in his grasp, one hand clamped around a pale wrist and the other in what Allen assumed was a binding chokehold. A glimpse of silver hair, and the soldier's victim was quickly identified. 

Allen tackled him with more ferocity than he'd originally intended, sending all three of them sprawling onto the floor. The soldier let out a small oomph in surprise, and the high pitched tone immediately branded "he" as a "she." The other sound, a male's grunting curse, stole the last fleeting hope that his sister's situation was not as terrible as he thought. The fight in him fled, replaced by a growing feeling of guilt and misery, and all he was able to do was keep a futile hug on the Zaibach woman. 

She was therefore the first to recover. She elbowed him hard in the chest, pushing herself away from him at the same time, and leapt to her feet. Almost immediately after was Dilandau, who let out an outraged roar and slammed into her hard enough to send them both back to the ground. 

"Bitch, bitch, bitch!" the crazed boy shrieked, punctuating his words by driving his fist towards the woman's unprotected face. She deflected a few, but not all, and his perch on her stomach hindered her ability to defend herself. Then he stiffened, his eyes rolling back into his head, and he slumped forward, resting his head on her shoulder's plate armor. Behind him stood a Sorcerer, a spent hypodermic needle in one hand, a relieved look on his tired face. 

"Are you all right, Zhi?" He bent down to lift the boy's unconscious body from hers when a swordpoint met his neck. 

"Stand where you are," commanded the Asturian guardsman. They had formed a ring around the group, hands on their swords. Angry, Zhi violently shoved the boy's dead weight off of her, causing a chorus of withdrawn steel, and Allen caught him before he could hit the floor. She stood, and cast the soldiers a baleful glare. 

"Celena," Allen whispered, though the sharp, arrogant features on the face before him were not truly the much-loved beauty of his sister. He drew Dilandau to his breast, choking at the lump in his throat and the pain in his heart. 

Van rubbed the developing bruises on his neck. He took a step towards Allen, hoping to apologize, but found himself unable to form the right words. A guilt-ridden sigh left his lungs, and he took the brief moment of sanity to examine the Zaibach couple. 

The Sorcerer was rather non-descript, only a few inches taller than himself, and though the features were young, his hair was shot through with gray and white. The lines that had started to form around his mouth were more suited for frowns than smiles. Had he told anyone that he'd just greeted his thirty-fifth year it was doubtful that they would have believed him. He stood calmly, a mixture of resolution and pity in his eyes, his form hidden underneath the high collar, floor-length black cloak. 

The soldier, though, was outlandish. She stood at a comparable eye level with Allen, which meant that Van had to crane his neck slightly to see all of her. Upswept almond eyes, black and narrowed over high, pale cheekbones, and luxurious, though haphazardly shorn to chin-length, black hair marked her as a Freidian woman, though it was rare to see one outside the home, not to mention her country. Her body was slim, but by her actions earlier probably highly toned, and was encased in the tight, leathery uniform that was characteristic of only Zaibach's elite Guymelef squad, the Dragonslayers. Dark blue covered her from head to toe, peeking out from underneath only slightly lighter thigh high booths, arm coverings, and heavy shoulder armor (each of which sported a single, hand's-height spike). Gold trim lined the collar, the jacket split down her midsection, and the buckles that were wrapped in from her back to meet her chest. A skirt, open wide in both the back and the front, covered her from waist to knees, and an empty sword hilt hung from one side. He'd seen the uniform before and, like her companion's wear, the memories it brought were far from sweet. Fleetingly he wondered what psychotic led the young squad now. Or, perhaps, was she here to claim their treasured captain...? 

"My Lord Van," Millerna called, gently making a pathway through her guardsmen, "are you hurt?" 

"No." 

"And you, sir?" she asked of the Madoushi. 

"A little startled, but otherwise fine." 

"Your name?" 

The calm young man adjusted his glasses. "Strategos Dineer, my lady." 

Millerna blinked, realizing that she faced the highest ranked official of the Zaibach Empire. She offered him a small bow. "My Lord." 

"What did you do to her?" 

The harsh question came from Allen, who stared angrily at the Sorcerer while still cradling Celena's -- Dilandau's -- unresponsive form. Dineer looked at him, expressionless. "A strong sedative. It will calm down his -- excuse me," he rectified, noting how the Knight's eyebrows furrowed, "_her_ body and make it more welcome to change back to its original form. I have a bottle in my luggage, enough to last -- " 

"You're not feeding her anymore of your... potions!" Allen snarled. 

The Dragonslayer sneered. "Let her suffer, then." 

"Zhi," the Sorcerer murmured. She rolled her eyes. He looked at the princess. "We will need a room, guards posted at the doors. A comfortable bed is a must, as well as a set of chairs, a small meal, plenty of candles. I'm certain that these three," he swept a hand towards Van, Allen, and Zhi, "would also feel more comfortable with their weaponry." 

Millerna frowned, slightly irritated at the man's presumptuous demands. "My Lord Strategos--" 

"Allow me to be more forward, my dear." Dineer straightened up, suddenly imposing, almost frighteningly authoritative. "Yes, I am the Strategos of Zaibach, second to only the Emperor himself. Though the Emperor is new to his position, I'm certain that my mistreatment will not go over well diplomatically. Furthermore," he gestured at Dilandau, "the notorious nature of this boy's role in the War of Destiny is known far and wide. Alone, he is thought to be responsible for the burning of an entire country, as well as rather numerous accounts of depravity. This recent incident was witnessed by representatives of every known country in Gaea, most of who have very long memories. I trust, then, that you realize my desire for haste in this matter and my lack of propriety. 

"That," he continued, looking meaningfully at the young Fanelian King, "and there are many answers about the man who once held my position that it is time you hear."   
  



	13. Part III Folken Chapter 12

4 **[ 12 ]**

How invigorating, to be free. 

_...still STINGS..._

And, wouldn't you know, someone had to deliver a to him a welcoming present! If he'd only had more time to enjoy it before they took it away. 

Nevertheless, it was thrilling to enjoy the few moments that he'd had with his fingertips against his neck, pressing the tiny nerves here and there, the thick veins and the corrugated windpipe yielding beneath his palms. He wanted to push and push and push until the flesh and bone exploded and his hands met together in a splattery, gore-enhanced clap. 

_...Prick. Prick. Prick prick prickprickprickPRICK --___

_ -- STOP! Oh, gods, stop..._

Then there was the Dragonslayer. The female Dragonslayer. Disgusting, staining the memory of his loyal followers this way. What were those idiot Generals thinking? Maybe he could make over that pretty, pale face with his fists. An ugly woman could be mistaken for a man. Maybe later he could carve off those awful protruding mammaries with the sharpened edge of a Crima claw. 

_Oh... Oh no... Help me help mehelpme AllenJajukaFolkenhelpmeOHPLEASE--_

...Prick. 

Silence.   
  
  


The girl came into his room every two to three days. How she managed to sneak away from whomever and wherever was beyond him. To be honest, he never considered the possibilities. 

They noticed that he was a bit more vigorous in his studies, and someone swore they caught him whistling in the hallways. It was just too bad that the private rooms were tightly locked and soundproofed (so that no one could interrupt the other's studies); more than one of the other boys would have liked to find out what sort of whore he'd managed to sneak into the facility. A few ribbed each other about the possible notion that it was one of _then_ that was entertaining the stuck-up bastard. In the meantime, while most of the students his age were still muddling about Molecular Biology and Atlantean Mythology, he'd been set up with a private laboratory with unlimited access to both the chemical and organic supply storage. He'd also been deprived of the usual red tape; the only people he answered to were Strategos Kyr or the Emperor himself, though it soon became much more preferable to answer to the ancient, metallic monstrosity that was the Emperor than the sneering, pasty-faced wraith that was the Strategos. 

Peaceful enough, the first three years. 

It was not a lonely existence, though the other young men shunned him and the instructors loathed him. He was allowed to roam outside freely (though there were sections of the facility itself that were barred), and therefore discovered more about the elusive Zaibach Empire than he suspected any foreigner had. He explored a country that was rich in knowledge and technology, and, strangely enough, without a set class system. Both men and women were outspoken regarding the state of the country and its people, and it was delightful to hear their public speeches or (once he'd gained a better grasp of their writing system) read through their weekly publications. It was fascinating to see assembly lines at work, cranking out everything from shoes to Guymelefs in vast, but controlled, amounts. The land itself was rather poor, lacking in the proper nutrients to supplement much in the way of botanics, but through trade the people continued to flourish. The single outpost (located within walking distance of the main entrance) was rich in foreign foods and materials which were traded for either bulk manufactured items, such as crates of leather armor, or exquisite metallic craftsmanship that were only capable using Zaibach's advanced tools. 

Though the intellectual crowd branded him clearly as an outcast, the soldiers were at least outwardly friendly. They were more used to seeing those maimed or crippled by combat, and therefore were more fascinated than disgusted by his unique situation. They welcomed his presence in the barracks, where he visited at least once every seven days, and often took drinks with them, though he never became senselessly inebriated. They welcomed him as a sparring partner, though he'd been reluctant to do so at first. It was delightful to once again hone his swordsmanship, and he used what he now had to every advantage. The soldiers often clapped him on the back shaking their heads, remarking what a waste it was that he was becoming a Madoushi and not a General. 

He even discovered a few "pets" on one of his outings. Though the twin beastgirls Naria and Eriya were distrustful of both him and his frequent companion at first, kindness and time brought out their sweet side, and they often fell asleep curled near his head or his chest, purring happily. 

The first few months of apathy and regret seemed like a dream. Fanelia seemed as far away as the Mystic Moon. And it was all because of Celena. 

Aside from a haunted look behind her deep blue eyes, the child had a seemingly limitless well of cheer that she could draw on that made the gloomy interior of his simple quarters bright and livable. He now had a set of two rooms to "play" in; one to sleep in, the other to study (his bed, now far more comfortable, had become a trampoline). She loved to watch him work, and her favourite pastime was to doodle, using rejected diagrams to scratch drawings of people, flowers, and animals. Her second favourite pastime was to pull Naria or Eriya's tails while they were taking one of their frequent naps... and run. This ended up in a rough wrestling match that often ended with Naria and Eriya sitting on top of Celena's back or front with some part of her (be it hair or dress) gently caught between sets of sharp kitten teeth. Even when she was bruised or cut, it never failed to set her off into peals of giggles. 

As for her imaginary friend, he brought himself to fore only when she was alone. Celena talked to the invisible figure in whispers, giggling at unheard jokes, gasping at inappropriate silent comments. She also blamed many of the little mishaps on him. The spilled ink was Dilandau's fault. Dilandau had ripped the blank parchment. Dilandau had toppled the books. It was sometimes frustrating, but she was so apologetic that he couldn't help forgive her. Luckily, though, the "other" friend disappeared nearly completely when Naria and Eriya arrived. Perhaps it was just the lack of similarly aged children that had created the little fiend. 

The three girls were in the midst of rumble, tearing through the study room, knocking over books and papers and causing a small ruckus (which he'd learnt to ignore), when someone began to urgently knock on the heavy wooden door. 

The four froze, Celena and Eriya in the midst of a wrestling hug with Naria nibbling on Celena's ankles, him at his desk, quill in mid-sweep. The three girls scrambled for the small space underneath his bed while he stood, adjusting his cloak, to answer the door. 

A beastman, canine, stood in the doorway, looking fervently left and right, as if expecting an attack. 

"Where is she?" he whispered, obviously aware of the presence of the other students. 

He pretended ignorance. "I believe you are mistaken. There is no one else here. If you would excuse me..." He began to close the door. The dogman thrust out his paw, forcing himself inside before hastily shutting the door. 

"No, I am not. You are Folken, yes?" 

He nodded hesitantly. "You have me at a disadvantage." 

"I am Jajuka." The beastman bowed. "Celena's keeper." 

"Jajuka!" Celena's tiny figure wriggled out from underneath the bed. Eriya and Naria's furry forms remained hidden, although a barely audible hiss floated up after the little girl. She snatched up one of her many sketches before throwing her arms around the dogman's waist. 

"Come now, Celena," he said, gently stroking her hair, "we need to go back now." 

"Go back?" Folken echoed. "To where?" 

"I'd heard you were an intelligent man, Master Folken," scoffed Jajuka. 

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?" 

"It means, Master Folken, that perhaps it's time you opened your eyes." 

"To _what_?" he cried. 

Jajuka sighed and removed the little girl's arms from about his waist, taking the proffered drawing at the same time. She immediately streaked for the bed, trying to coax the anxious twins out from underneath the mattresses so they could meet her "other bestest friend." The beastman took a glance at the paper, then folded it neatly. "Celena tells me about you all the time. You are kind, she says. You are her friend. I have asked her, 'And what does he say when you tell him where you are from?' She says, 'I do not tell him. He would be angry.'" 

The young man's eyes opened wide. "Damn it all," he whispered, "will you provide me the answer?" 

"She says you are busy all the time," the beastman continued, ignoring the question, "and I have heard your name quite often from the Sorcerers and the soldiers. You are more physically active than most, I have heard, quite commendable. Many students prefer only their studies. Here." 

Folken realized the man was babbling, avoiding the answer to his question. He looked down, only seeing his own rejected scribblings. "I have seen her drawings before." 

"Celena!" Jajuka called, "It is time to go." He turned back towards the confused boy. "Yes, you have. I have heard from the Sorcerers that you will be appointed and transferred quite soon. When you do, more of the Madoushi's secrets will become open. More of the complex's rooms will be unlocked. You will find Celena then." 

Celena came obediently, disappointed that the cat-twins were quite adamant regarding their refusal to meet with the canine. She wrapped her smaller hand into Jajuka's furry paw and they turned to leave. The little girl raised a hand and smiled brightly, cheerfully bidding farewell. 

"Wait!" he cried. He had to know! How could he have been so blissfully ignorant all this time? What could he have been thinking? 

The beastman had opened the door, and was now mindful of curious bystanders. "I thank you for finding her, Master," he said, bowing respectfully. "I apologize that she caused you so much inconvenience." 

He almost shouted at him. How could he have just barged in here like this and disrupted everything? How could he leave so many burning questions unanswered? Instead, he made an approving grunt, just enough to be polite without giving the others the impression that there'd been anything more than business between the stupid creature and himself, and slammed the door. Once their footsteps had faded away, he sighed and opened the parchment... 

...And beheld a child's clumsy drawing of a Madoushi strung by his neck from a scraggly, leafless tree (the trunk merely the downstroke of a hard-pressed quill), whose innards, a conglomerate of amoeba-like organs and a trail of scraggly double lines, had been spilled onto the 2-dimensional earth. Away from the gruesome remains stood a widely grinning stick boy with shoulder-length hair wielding two darkly stained hands. An arrow pointed from his head to a set of ill-written Zaibach words. 

"Dilandau iz hapy now!"   
  
  


"You're a woman." 

"And?" 

"The Dragonslayers were boys." 

"And?" 

"What do you mean, 'And?' What are you doing in that uniform?" 

"Does it really matter?" 

"Yes!" 

"Strange concerns coming from the man that slaughtered the first of the Dragonslayer regiments." 

"How do you know about that?!" 

"I wonder, half-breed beast, did you enjoy hearing them scream?" 

Van's fingers clenched over his sword hilt. "You fucking bi--" 

"Van!" Eries snapped. 

"Good grief," Gaddes said, exasperated. 

"Zhi," said Dineer, peering at her through his spectacles over a half-filled glass of vino. 

The chaos at the reception had been, eventually, militaristically dispersed, with all the guests sent back to their rooms under a full Asturian guard. No one was to leave without an escort, no one was to go home without identifying an emergency. In essence, the princesses had managed to "take hostage" nearly all of Gaea's prominent dignitaries. Many were outraged but were willing to put it aside in exchange for knowing the fate of the infamous Dragonslayer Commander Dilandau Albatou. 

The boy in question was now sleeping quite peacefully in a down-filled bed, his formerly malicious appearance only marred by the clean-cut scar that blemished his right cheek. Allen had hoped that whatever medicine the Strategos had given would have reverted him back to his original form. Instead, he'd remained asleep, and the sight of what had been his sister's body in such a dead-like state made Allen want to scream. 

Gaddes, along with the Princess Eries (as the reigning royalty Princess Millerna, though curious and concerned, was forced to deal with the throng of angered guests), had been allowed into the spacious tower suite, and, per Dineer's request, so had an armed Van and Zhi. Allen politely refused his weaponry, fearful at the chance to use it. Other than the wide bed, the stone and wooden room held a dresser and a thick rug, and several modest tapestries. A few padded chairs and a light meal of bread, cheese, and vino had been brought up as well. Two slender windows let in the moonlight, and offered a splendid view of downtown Palas. A long line of guards had been posted on the stairwell to the upper room. 

Dineer took a long pull at his glass, sighing appreciatively afterwards. "Delicious!" 

"My Lord Strategos," said the Princess, "perhaps it's time you tell us why you have brought us up here?" 

"Ah yes," he replied, setting down his drink, "you must forgive me. Our country has been a bit lacking in good vintage these days." 

"We'd be happy to send you home with several of our best bottles." 

"Excellent! Much appreciated, my dear, thank you." 

"Are you going to tell us what my brother has to do with him or not?" Van snarled. 

Dineer clasped his hand together, two _human_ hands, Van noted, and paced a bit near the window. His long, black cloak trailed after him, whispering on the cold stone floor. "Yes, well, this will not be easy. You must give me a few moments. I think, perhaps, you may all want to have a seat." 

"Why?" Van was leaning against the wall, arms folded. Zhi was standing near the princess, hand comfortably resting on the hilt of her sword. Gaddes was fidgeting, hands in his pockets. Allen was the only one not standing, sitting protectively with Dilandau near the head of the bed. 

"Not many have heard what I am about to tell you. Some of it... will not be pleasant. It will be a long telling, too. King Van, please." 

After seeing the scathing look Eries hurled his way, Van plopped into a nearby chair. Eries let herself into another one, settling her skirts immediately. Gaddes slid onto the floor. Zhi remained standing, scowling in annoyance. 

"Well then," Dineer said, pushing his spectacles back to their appropriate place, "I met Folken Lacour de Fanel about three years after he'd arrived..."   



	14. Part III Folken Chapter 13

4 **[ 13 ]**

"Master Folken?" 

No response. Only the gurgling of boiling chemicals answered the young man's query. 

"Master Folken?" he asked again, pushing his way carefully into the laboratory. Another young man sat at the desk in front of him, carefully writing something left-handed while using a gloved right hand to peer at a beaker. 

"Master Folken, I apologize for interrupting you, but I was told to introduce myself immediately. I am Dineer, your new assistant." 

The sky haired man turned slightly, frowning. "Really now? Only you?" 

Dineer blinked. What a low voice for such a young person! "Yes, well..." 

"Nobody else volunteered." 

Dineer grimaced. 

Folken peered at the young man, cloakless, wearing the standard Madoushi uniform, whose handsome face was only creased by the stretch of his smile. His spectacles had been pushed onto his head, holding back the top of an unruly mop of hair that was braided and hung over one shoulder. "I see," Folken said at last. 

"I-I had heard of your genius, Master Folken!" he stammered. "It really does not matter to me what the others say, though there are a few that think as I do. To think that you perfected the Crima Claw on the Alseides model all on your own! Not to mention discovering the premises of redirecting Fate particles, creating the periscope system for both Guymelef and tank usage--" 

The other man's frown deepened, and he began to turn back around. "I don't need an assistant." 

"I'm really sorry you think so sir, but Strategos Kyr gave me this." He held out a scroll, neatly sealed. 

Folken unraveled it and peered at Kyr's flourishing and sickeningly precise handwriting. When he was done, he rerolled the scroll and handed it back. "We are to begin working with the Senior Sorcerers on the Fate Experimentation project, beginning tomorrow morning. Specifically, it says, we are to begin the manipulation of Fate particles on organic beings." 

"Wonderful!" Dineer cried, taking an eager hold of the other boy's right hand. "It will be wonderful to work... to work..." 

The cold metal in his grasp twitched slightly. Pointed fingertips scraped lightly against the back of his hand. Dineer slowly gazed upwards, taking in the twisting wires and cords, gaping at the bolts, screws, and molded plates that were fused together to create a hideous, metallic mockery of the muscles and sinews on a skinless human arm. 

That glove had been his hand! 

"Yes," Folken replied coldly, a small smile on his lips, "I suppose it will."   
  
  


Dineer winced and ran his fingers through his hair. He took a long pull at his glass before continuing. "I apologize. Folken kept that thing well hidden from the other students. A lot of the other boys thought that he was deformed in some way, but that was entirely unexpected." 

Van's face pinched in nearly the same way. The hairs on his neck rose, remembering the sting of that fingertip needle. His introduction to his brother's alteration had been, if anything, more startling than Dineer's. The others had heard, but never seen firsthand, the replacement arm, and were impatient but respectful in the short lull. Zhi merely looked bored. 

The Strategos cleared his throat. "Well… Folken and I worked together for some time before we got any sort of success. It was frustrating work. The Sorcerers had previously attempted experiments on live beings before, all failures, and we were privy to their calculations, but never to details. We found those on our own later, much to our horror. 

"In the meantime, I tried to whittle away at his personal defenses." He smiled wistfully, staring at the droplets of red wine that remained at the bottom of his glass. "He'd been so used to being shunned by his fellow classmates and intellectuals that to find someone that actually was trying to like him was strange. I think I must have talked quite a bit, telling him about myself, trying to get something more than scientific information out of him. It took several weeks before I succeeded…"   
  
  


The boy was an incessant chatterbox. 

Against his will, Folken had already learned that Dineer was the son of a struggling metal artisan whose soldier husband had died on some government sanctioned expedition. She was left to fend with a teenage son whose misbehavior eventually sent him to the gallows, and Dineer. Her penny-pinching had eventually saved enough to him to school where it was discovered that the young child was something of a prodigy. The word was spread to the Sorcerer's Academy, and when he was old enough, Dineer made a tearful goodbye to his loving mother to begin boarding at the most elite of Zaibach educational centers. Since then, he'd made a name for himself as one of many respectful, hard-working students. It was then not kindly looked upon that he'd singly volunteered to be the assistant of the cold, friendless foreign boy. Dineer mentioned this last only once, and then so quietly that Folken hadn't been sure he'd heard it. 

So far Folken had escaped answering any of the boy's questions regarding his lineage by pretending he hadn't heard them. Much to his own surprise, however, he found himself acting somewhat polite, encouraging the one-sided conversation by asking questions (though they didn't really go farther than, "Is that so?" and "Really?") and nodding attentively. 

Damn it all, he found himself enjoying the boy's company. He'd been trying so hard to keep himself from becoming attached to this place and this place's people; after all, one of these days he would take Celena away to somewhere they would be safe. She'd been mysteriously absent since the discovery of her drawing. Folken made cryptic attempts to locate and discover the whereabouts of his tiny friend to no avail. He'd seen Jajuka often enough now that he was a permanent addition to the Emperor's Fate laboratories; the beastman was apparently the keeper for many of the animals stored for experimentation. Even he had no answers to Celena's disappearance, and Folken's anxiety grew. 

"Christ!" 

Dineer pounded his fist into the laboratory table, frustrated at another failure. The rat had died. Again. Calm as usual, Folken wrote down the incident as required by the Sorcerer's Committee. _Green, 7th Moon: Experiment on Subject 278-A closed due to subject's termination._ "Is it as bad as last time?" 

"No," responded Dineer. "At least most of his body held together. Can't say too much about his insides." He prodded the dome-shaped, hairy lump with a hypodermic needle. The skin split under the pressure, releasing a smelly, bloody, gooey mass that had once been the animal's organs and bones. 

"At least we've finally isolated the proper Fate particles." He peered at the laboratory's chalkboard, seething at having to report another week's worth of dead ends. They were advancing in inches to successfully completing their work, and he abhorred the possibility that this one thing could take a lifetime to achieve. 

Dineer sighed and settled despondently onto his stool. "Mother used to tell me that the angels would get me through times like these." He ran his fingers through his hair, which hung loose around his shoulders. 

Folken's eyebrows quirked. "Angels?" 

"Never heard of an angel?" 

"No." 

"You're serious?" 

"Yes." 

"I knew it!" Dineer was delighted. He straightened up, a grin broadening on his face. "You really aren't from the capitol! Maybe from the outskirts?" 

"The angels?" he asked, hiding his panic under exasperation. 

"Messengers of God." He cleared his throat. "_For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone._" 

"What?" 

"It's from a Psalm. Always was my favorite." The boy beamed. "Got me through those damn entrance exams. They're supposed to look like human beings with white bird's wings. Mother had a statue she kept near the door. She really took to that religious stuff after father died." 

"Winged humans," dully repeated Folken. "You worship Atlanteans." 

"Not really, although that first round of mythology classes really hit me. They're more than just humans, I suppose. According to the local priest they're just spirits and beings that exist in Heaven with God, no real link to the cursed Atlanteans." 

"Which god?" 

"_The_ God." He took on a false, haughty air. "The one and only God; He who vanquishes the false gods and makes them appear as the hollow idols that they are." He rolled his eyes. "There were some fanatics back home that wanted to go out to Freid and Fanelia and make sure that they knew what the true religion was. I hear Fanelia still worships the dragons and the like. Bet they would have gotten a great reception, seeing as how the King supposedly married a Draconian and all. I say, are you feeling all right?" 

"Yes," he croaked, swallowing a nervous lump. 

Dineer regarded him for a moment or two. "It's strange that you've never heard of any of this." 

This was the first time Dineer had vocalized any sort of speculation regarding his lineage. Folken hoped silence would deter his curiousity. It had the opposite effect. 

"You know, they're saying that the heir to the Fanelian throne disappeared a few years back. Some say he died on that bloody ritual of theirs, but a body was never found." 

"I -" 

"- Don't know what I'm talking about. Look Folken," Dineer smiled warmly at him, "I told you that I respected you, so much that wherever you're from and whatever you've done would really not matter to me. I'm thinking that we could make this project a lot easier for ourselves if we supported each other as friends. What do you say?" 

The sky haired boy was stunned speechless. To reveal his past would mean once again facing his failure, and the possibility that he'd left behind a shattered family and country. He'd planned so long just to begin life anew with Celena, Naria, and Eriya, and to one day leave Zaibach's cold, scientific ways behind him. Dineer's question presented another possibility; that perhaps Zaibach's embrace would welcome him; that this was where Fate had meant for him to be. 

"I used to wet my bed," Dineer said finally. 

"What?" 

"I used to wet my bed," he repeated. "I figured I could give you a dirty secret and then you could tell me yours." 

Folken stared at the grinning Zaibachian for a moment, astonished. 

"My mother used to hang the sheets out to dry right out the front window. She thought that might encourage me to stop." 

One side of his mouth drew upwards. This was embarrassing to the both of them! 

"I think it followed me all the way through school," Dineer commented wistfully. "Someone remembered I'd been the one with the strange yellow flag that hung in front of my house. I think it hampered my dating life, no pun intended." 

Folken involuntarily chuckled. 

His assistant was "I never knew you could do that." 

"Do what?" 

"Laugh." 

The mirth left his face. And, for reasons he couldn't fathom, Folken told him everything. He told him of Fanelia and of his father and brother, skirting the truth regarding his mother. He told him of the botched dragonslaying ritual, and how he'd hesitated, fatally, upon seeing the intelligence and emotion in the land dragon's eyes. He told of waking upon the operating table, horrified beyond comprehension upon discovering the inhuman appendage that had replaced his severed arm. He even told of being lonely and disheartened, and of the emotional relief that came from a single, happy little girl. He told of finding Naria and Eriya, and how he began to dream of a new life, with a new purpose. He stopped finally after his initial meeting with Jajuka, including the terrifying illustration that had been left behind, realizing that the light that streamed in through the windows had dimmed considerably. 

"I say," Dineer whispered, awestruck, "that was the last thing I ever expected." 

"I need to find her," Folken murmured fervently. "There's something wrong here that I can't find. The beastman said that doors would be open to me now that I've been appointed here." 

Dineer stood and paced. "The archives, maybe. We can start there. But before they start letting us in, we need to start producing some results." He waved his hand at the botched experiment. 

At last, inspiration! Folken's eyes lit up. "Tomorrow, then." 

Dineer nodded, smiling. "To future success!" he toasted, lifting a beaker to his newly established friend. 

"To success," Folken responded. 

Their beakers dinged together. The sound rebounded ominously off of the room's metal walls, and the two boys felt inexplicably chilled.   
  
  


On the way back to his room, Dineer passed a familiar figure that he couldn't be more delighted to see. 

"Jajuka! How are those Daedalian rock lizards doing?" 

The beastman bowed respectfully. "Well, my lord. They've taken better now that we've been able to give them a proper amount of lighting." 

"Your bandages need replacing," Dineer said, concerned over the blood-soak wraps around the beastman's head. "Whatever happened?" 

Jajuka touched the wrap, his expression saddening as did so. His voice quivered as he spoke, "An… An accident, my lord." 

"I see." Dineer frowned. 

The beastman looked around. Then, with tears unabashedly dampening the fur under his eyes, he gazed upon the slightly smaller human teenager. "Tell him that he needs to find her," he said quietly, "before it's too late." 

"What has happened?" Dineer whispered. 

"They've taken her for the final trials. One way or another, she may be lost to all of us forever." 

"Who has?" 

Jajuka put a furred hand on the boy's uniformed chest. "Your peers, my lord. 

"The Sorcerers have Selected her."   



	15. Part III Folken Chapter 14

4 **[ 14 ]**

Dineer sighed, lifted his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. "I resisted telling Folken right away, only because I knew how much his heart depended on that girl. Should he have known she was in any sort of danger I knew his mind would be distracted and we'd see just another line of failures." 

"Your _project_ mattered more?" Eries remarked, disappointment coloring her tone. 

"Ah, no my lady!" Dineer exclaimed defensively. "At least I hope not. I was quite motivated back then to succeed in the Academy, a lot for my poor mother's sake. I admit, regretfully, that some of this ambition may have clouded my judgment. In any case, I kept the secret from him for a good four years. They flew by quickly, mostly because we were so busy. Apparently our 'intact rat' was the most successful anyone had gotten utilizing the particular Fate particles that we'd been working with. The Sorcerers were therefore rather persistent that we continue. I can count the number of days that we were allowed off per year on one hand. 

"Needless to say, it was mostly Folken's doing. His foreign approach to traditional Zaibach scientific experimentation gave our research what it needed to succeed where others had failed. All of it sort of stopped rather abruptly once we found out what they were using it for --" the Strategos glanced over at the prone ex-Dragonslayer Commander and shook his head. 

"I spent much of my free time trying to find out what it meant to be Selected. Many of my colleagues were completely clueless. Others... well, the question frightened them. Jajuka feigned ignorance, which, although frustrating, was essential to prolong his very existence. I found very, very little, other than it had something to do with an experiment that the Emperor himself was involved in. 

"Folken, in the meantime, spent most of his free time in the nearby soldier's barracks honing his swordsmanship. It was strange to see a fully uniformed Madoushi student exchanging trained blows with the best of the General's trainees, but it was obvious he held his own and more. 

"And then, the same day I finally convinced a fellow to allow us access into the Library, Folken met Dilandau for the first time."   
  
  


The progress that they'd made even impressed Kyr. Though the praise was never directly spoken, but it was a good sign that his daily tirades and insults regarding their workmanship habits had stopped. 

Dineer commented that many of his fellows were envious of their success. A great many had stopped talking to him altogether, which did little to damper his optimism. It was clear, though, that something or other had shortened his smile, and Folken attributed it to the stress. 

Since they'd managed to isolate working Fate articles, their subsequent experiments produced breakthrough results. What excited the Senior Sorcerers the most was how they'd managed to reverse an organism's habits, color, and even its sex. An excitable, cheese-loving male mouse became a sluggish, meat-eating hermaphrodite after being injected with one of their later mixtures. The two most recurring failures were the impermanence of the transformation, and the bizarre habits that began to appear after only a few months of therapy. One bashed its own head against the cage bars so that the skull split, and even then continued until its brains had been dashed against the metal. Another turned upon her babies, viciously ripping apart the tiny, pink bodies and then spreading them about her cage. 

Despite these setbacks, Folken found a few extra moments to begin work on what he called a "Destiny-Prognostication Device," something he felt could virtually predict the future. The Emperor was more than pleased upon seeing the initial schematics, and even considered letting him a few months respite from the Fate Experimentation project to complete the mechanism. Instead, the young man handed over the project to another and returned to the laboratories, shrugging off the Emperor's rare, monstrously ancient vocal praise as insignificant. 

The twin cat-girls adored him more and more as they grew, but even they could not erase the troublesome worry that sometimes interfered with his concentration; he'd found nothing of Celena for at least four years. Jajuka's jaws were clamped shut, and Dineer had heard nothing from his fellows. He'd learned to blockade such thoughts when working on experiments, or when sparring with the soldiers. Whenever possible, he pushed the limits of both his mental and physical stamina until his one remaining thought was to return to his chambers and fall asleep, blessedly free of his miserable thoughts. 

One such day the sun shone brightly, and while Dineer ran off to pursue an errand, he took advantage of the fine, spring's day to join his friends in the barracks. 

"Damnit," cursed the latest fallen soldier, "I've had enough already! Left-handed cripple, my fucking ass." 

Folken gave him a small smile and reached down to help the young man up. He took it graciously, adding his laughter to those of his fellows. "I swear, when is it that you'll finally hang up the skirts and put on some armour like a proper man?" 

It would be an anomaly if someone didn't ask him that question, and always he'd smile and shake his head. He did so now, and the soldier clapped him on the back. "Ever to have your hands in some rat's guts, eh Ken?" 

"Master Folken is a genius!" cried the ever present Naria. 

"Do not treat him with such disrespect!" added the golden Eriya. 

Another round of guffaws colored the sunlit, dusty courtyard. "Careful Nisset!" shouted one errant fellow. "They'll tear your eyes out with those pretty claws!" 

Folken cast a withering look at the twins, whose presence in both the Academy and in the barracks was treated as if he'd took upon himself two companionable puppies. It pained him to think that there were few in the world who would treat beastpeople such as themselves as they would any other human being, despite the fact that they thought, fought, and loved just the same. Bright, adoring smiles decorated the young girls, whom he was certain were approaching their seventeenth year. Their figures had blossomed beautifully, and they'd taken to wearing the tight-fitting uniform of a Guymelef pilot, making him the object of even more gossipy sexual speculation among the Madoushi students and had gained him the obvious envy of his soldier fellows. 

The two girls were inseparable from themselves and from their dear "Master." He'd objected highly at first to their almost god-like worship, but when they were unrelenting he wearily let it happen. Without Celena, they were the only two could truly bring out a joyful feeling in his heart, and their sisterly devotion reminded him without pain of the brother he'd left behind. While he toiled in the laboratories, they'd taken it upon themselves to visit the soldiers that Folken often sparred against. Their charm and their relationship with their Madoushi companion helped them convince the young men and boys to train them to be fighters and pilots. The initial reluctance and jeering disappeared once the trainees realized how their natural feline agility and weaponry placed the simple human boys at an incredible disadvantage. Though women were rarely allowed to train in either academy, the novelty of their skill and enthusiasm caught the eye of a Guymelef drill sergeant who took it upon himself to allow the girls to become part of his company. 

After all, Eriya and Naria told themselves, what good were they if they couldn't protect their beloved savior? 

Nisset, a clean shaven raven-haired man who loved battle, women, and his food in exactly that order, walked over to the stone wall that the girls were sitting upon. He kissed the hand of the silver haired Naria. "My lady, I apologize for my crude remark." 

Naria smiled coyly while her sister rolled her eyes. "Sir Nisset," she said, smiling promisingly, though the young man knew that her body and heart would belong to one man only. 

Nisset looked disparagingly at the tall Madoushi apprentice. "It's a shame you have two of these and I have none." 

Folken smiled, sheathing his sword. He began to reply, for exchanging banter with these men, both crude and colorful in their insults and commentary, was a respite from the jargon that he had to use with most of the Sorcerers, when a slithering, cool young voice interrupted him. 

"It's more a shame he wastes time on such trash. And that you waste time with him." 

The courtyard's noises dimmed considerably, aside from the chirping of birds and the distant metallic crash of a pair of Guymelefs in training. The group's once cheerful demeanor changed abruptly, as the men looked up on the newcomer with a mixture of loathing and respect. 

The surprise on Folken's face was evident as he turned to confront what turned out to be a young boy, no more than fourteen, followed by six boys of similar age. Silvery-white, straight hair spread from a simple, straight part in the middle of his forehead creating a pale frame to a pretty face. His lips were curled in a scornful smirk and eyes that were an unnatural shade of red were narrowed in a critical gaze at Folken's Madoushi uniform. He wore the standard, undecorated uniform of the Military Academy's students; a simple, collared white tunic and a set of dark breeches tucked into high, hard leather boots. A simple chain necklace hung at his neck, bearing some sort of odd-colored pendant. The boy was tall for his age, reaching as far as Folken's mid-chest, and the muscles on his arms and legs were small, but defined. 

Folken blatantly stared, his mouth hanging slightly agape. Something about the boy rang infernally false... 

"Is there a problem, Skirt?" 

The boy's insult jarred him out of his thoughts. He stared the boy down, using his height at its fullest advantage. "I trust, young sir, you have a reason for insulting a man you don't even know." 

The sneer widened into an amused grin. "Oh but I _do_ know you, Skirt. You keep filthy beastgirls in your quarters and you fiddle with your assistant when you're done throwing chemicals into rats. Any one of these men can attest to the rumours, although only you can prove them true. Perhaps you'd like to show me if there truly IS a man underneath those robes and cloaks?" 

"Be silent, brat! How dare you say such things!" Naria shrieked, jumping down from her perch. Eriya shouted her sister's name and followed. 

Six swords slid from their sheathes. A malevolent laugh burst from the boy's mouth. 

"Commander?" requested one of the other boys. 

A seventh sword appeared. The silver-haired boy walked over to Naria, the smile gone. He stood a few feet away from her, looking up at the slightly taller young girl. Though her face was contorted in rage, and her slightly pointed teeth were bared in an animalistic snarl, he was undaunted. They circled each other, measuring each other up, attempting to intimidate the other into feeling just enough fright to swing the impending fight in their favour. Only the distant, grinding echoes of the sparring Guymelefs and the chirps of some errant birds impeded the courtyard as all eyes focused on the two steely combatants. On the boy's face was an easy, arrogant grin. A faint, feral growl rumbled from beneath his opponent's lips. 

"Let's see you _burn_ me, bitch!" shouted the boy, rushing forward and descending his sword in a long, swift arc. 

Naria had never liked the sword, and never tried to excel at fighting with one. She had, however, managed to hone what was naturally hers to defend and counterattack against the weapon, especially since the ability was necessary for proper Guymelef combat. Natural feline reflexes saved her from a blow that would have split her skull in two. Easily she tumbled and lifted back onto her feet, only to find the boy had followed her. A heavy leather boot smacked into the side of her head, sending her back into the dirt. She rolled, and the sword bit into the ground inches away from her torso. 

Her sister took a hesitant step forward. "No, Eriya!" she said, springing to her feet while the boy looked on, a smile playing on his lips. "I will do this on my own!" 

"Then you'll be crushed on your own!" laughed her opponent. He leapt forward, swinging the flat side of his blade at her face. Though the distraction was momentary, the mistake was fatal. Skin and metal slapped together, and the girl fell to the floor a second time. Insulted and enraged, she turned to attack and was forced to stop, halted by the pointed end of a well-crafted blade. 

"Well," gloated the boy, "I'd say that was quick and pointless." He pushed the sword in towards Naria's chest, scraping the point back and forth lightly against her breasts. She glared up at him, grasping clumps of tannish brown dirt to keep herself in check. It would take but a small stab to slide the blade between her ribs and into the flesh beneath. As it was, the hard woven cloth of her prized uniform had broken and frayed underneath the boy's ministrations. 

"Enough." 

The deep tone and the shuffle of his body length uniform marked the distinct owner of the voice. The boy cast a dark, promising look in Folken's direction, but the sword did not move. Eriya was behind him, worry playing on her patterned face. "I said, enough," repeated Folken. "You've insulted and harassed us enough for today. Perhaps it's time you rejoined your fellows in the barracks." 

"Back away, skirt!" called one of the boy's six followers. 

"Shut up, Guimel," the boy snapped. "If the Sorcerer wishes to stop me, than let him stop me." He grinned, an expression that seemed to stretch the skin on his face and twist the features into a gruesomely handsome mask. The bright metal moved steadily from Naria's chest to Folken's, pressing lightly on the thinner cloth. "What are you going to do? Challenge me?" 

A hard _clang_ answered the boy. He pulled at his sword, his smile dissipating. "Let go!" 

Folken loathed exposing the artifice that had replaced his appendage as anything other than a normal arm. At the Academy he was careful to conceal it totally, though in the labs with Dineer, who would not gape and stare, he used it as if it had always been a part of him. During sparring sessions he sometimes used it as a shield, although since the straps to a normal shield would not comfortably fit on either arm such usage was rather necessary. However, he'd never really used it in such an inhuman way before, grasping the killing edge of the boy's sword between fingers that should have split and yielded blood. He was angry, and more than that he was confused, for there was still something about him that made his stomach and his heart react in both fear and loathing. 

One sharp tug wrenched the blade out of the boy's hands. Folken dropped it to the dirt and stared down the impudent soldier. The boy looked up and saw within those reddish globes a rage and a will to overpower his own. For the first time since he'd stood on the courtyard, he backed away. 

"B-But, Commander-" stammered one of his companions. 

A swift, cheek-cracking backhand silenced him. The young man stumbled, but remained standing, clutching his face. 

The boy left the courtyard without retrieving his sword. His cohorts followed silently, throwing meaningless, threatening glances at the tall Madoushi Apprentice. Eriya helped her sister up from the ground, and then helped her to brush away clouds of dust and dirt. Naria looked worriedly at her master, whose teeth and fists were clenched in an unusual display of black emotion. The remaining soldiers began to leave, muttering among themselves. As he approached the aggravated trio, Nisset sighed. 

"That there's Dilandau Albatou. Popped in several years ago, passed all the intelligence tests with flying colors, got up to an officer position before anyone knew it. Acts like an ass, but all those fuckers following him treat him like he's some goddamn royalty." He looked up and beheld his companion's ashen face. "Something wrong?" 

"Master Folken?" Naria whispered, putting one hand gently on his trembling shoulder. 

_...Dilandau...___

_...Dilandau... Dilandau iz hapy..._

"I think it's time to go," he said finally. He directed a small smile at Nisset before turning to leave. "I'm fine." 

"Are you now? Too many muckety muck chemicals messing up the noggin?" 

"Not at all, I assure you." 

"Mind filling me in?" 

"It's just," he replied, patting his charge's furry paw, "I believe I've met this young one before."   
  
  


"Astounding!" Dineer exclaimed, upon hearing his friend's tale. "What do you suppose it means?" 

"I'm not sure." And he really didn't. The picture that Celena had drawn had long ago been both ripped apart and burned, but he remembered well the bloodstained hands and grinning character that had owned them. Between a child's inarticulate scribbling and the appearance of a flesh and blood boy it was difficult to make a comparison. Yet it was not a common name, either in Zaibach or otherwise. Maybe his little friend had heard of the boy before and attributed both the fame and skill to her mischievous invisible friend. Only... 

Only the timing was wrong. Celena talked of Dilandau before Nisset said he'd arrived. Or at least, it was too close for him to have established himself. 

Altering the Fates of organic materials... beings... wasn't that what they were trying to perfect? 

What if... 

What if they were already using their research? What if they'd moved on to animals of far better intellect and functionality than mere rats? 

Human beings...? 

Impossible. The corpses would be infamous. 

Unless the security on the project was high, where waggling tongues meant swift execution. It was possible, and it had been done. 

_Celena. Was Celena there?_

"Well, I have some good news for you anyways. I finally got Wen to open up the damn research library to us. Told him that it was imperative to our project, and told him I'd get him a case of Asturian wine." Dineer grinned. 

The merriment was infectious. Folken managed at least a half a smile, turning up one corner. "Very well. Let's go now." 

"Now?" his friend echoed, startled. "Folken, it's nearly midnight!" 

His incomplete expression melted into a deep, disturbed frown. "Now." 

Dineer threw up his arms. "All right, all right. I'm going to owe him two cases after this."   
  
  


"My lady," said Dineer, suddenly interrupting the narrative to address Eries alone. "if you would, please, find out for me how the rest of my delegation fares? My absence is sure to be suspect." 

The elder princess sighed and stood. "Very well. My sister should be up here shortly as well." She left, glancing backwards once suspiciously only to find a worn, innocent smile on the Strategos' face. When the door closed, he sighed deeply and sadly, running one hand down his face. When he looked up again, there were tears brimming his eyes. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered, swallowing to gain his composure, "but I needed her out. What I will say next is not for ears of ladies such as she." 

The remaining listeners shifted slightly, affected by Dineer's growing uneasiness. He drew in a shaking breath. "No one really knows of what we found. The Emperor probably did, as well as some of the former Senior Sorcerers. God forgive me for what I've done," he finished, breaking his final word with closed eyes. 

Allen's hands clenched, and Zhi's hand moved to the hilt of her sword. On the bed, as if reliving the past with the same vivid misery, Dilandau Albatou / Celena Schezar sighed. 


	16. Part III Folken Chapter 15

4 **[ 15 ]**

"Black, 5th Moon, Female, Egzardian, 6 years of age. Referenced by experiment A-67." 

"Deceased. Failed testing 9b." 

"Green, 19th Moon, Female, Daedalian, 5 years of age. Referenced by experiment B-301." 

"Deceased. Failed initial inoculations." 

"Hell," sighed Dineer, falling back into his chair, "there's just too many of them!" 

They sat across from each other at a table illuminated with over a dozen energist-powered lanterns. It was two hours past midnight, and at such an ungodly hour Dineer's friend's attitude fell far below cordial. The unfortunate boy was now indebted to pay two cases of Asturian wine and a bottle of good Basramlic vodka. However, what the rather uptight, antisocial young man planned to do with such a quantity of alcohol was something that eluded the both of them. 

The library's architecture had been designed to be primarily functional rather than decorative, and so the long lengths of stone and metal bookshelves were cold and uninviting. During the day, students were often hunched over peering through scrolls or leather-bound archives of past experiments, hoping that somewhere in the ancient writings was a clue to their predecessors' mistakes (subsequently their success). At the late hour, though, the library was silent, the students gone. The Senior Sorcerers were fanatic, though remarkably careless, in the safeguarding of the school's research. Most of them were under the superbly confident belief that there was no one who would even bother with thievery; after all, to be discovered meant public prosecution, and public prosecution meant that you were barred from furthering entry into any Zaibach school. A student would go from prestigious to impoverished in a matter of days. 

Folken and Dineer had agreed early on to minimize their time in the library. Just looking at the three, room-length, cramped shelves of books that were dedicated to past failed Fate Experiments tended to fuel discouragement. Since their own research and new techniques had birthed results, they only resorted to the books when all other resources had been exhausted. 

One particular section of the library had been specifically cordoned off for only the Emperor and the Senior Sorcerers. A key was kept in the hands of a single, honored student librarian (who they were unaware had a weakness for cases of fine beverages) under the possibility of an emergency. Dineer had befriended the man during their series of Biochemistry courses, though Folken speculated that the other boy had merely crumbled under Dineer's unrelenting merry charms. When he was appointed keeper of the key, their mutual cheerful friend had delivered to him a bottle of his beloved vodka, which he'd drained in less than an hour. 

The boy, Wen, had eyed Folken suspiciously, knowing the rumours as well as any other student. It took the promise of the extra case and extra bottle, as well as a hard reassurance that if they were caught they were to under no circumstances place even an iota of blame on him, to get him to open that door in this late hour. Dineer was forced to sign a slip of paper sealing the agreement, which Wen stuffed greedily into his uniform. 

A long flight of stairs led down. When they got there, they discovered a smaller room with similar decor, with two lines of books and a set of tables in between. There were also doors on all walls at regular intervals labeled carefully with a series of numbers and letters. Dineer pulled a book off the shelf to behold a detailed listing of names, dates, and locations referencing specific experiments that correlated with the numbers on the locked doors. They'd walked up to the first one mentioned and pulled hard on the handles. 

Dineer had peered at the lock. "No good, and I know that wino doesn't have the keys to these." 

Folken had the answer to their problem. He lifted the index and middle fingers of his metal arm. After a sharp _click_ two small, thin needles appeared through the fingertips. It took what seemed like forever to pick the lock, since neither had any experience doing so, but they were eventually rewarded. Both boys pulled hard at the heavy steel door. 

"Good _God_." 

The room reeked of a horrid combination of chemicals, making their nostrils flare in response. Three rows of different sized glass cylindrical tanks were neatly kept in the dimly illuminated room. An eerie, bluish light emanated from the bottom of each tank, awkwardly clashing with the flickering yellows and oranges of four enclosed torches. The tops of the tanks were capped by a metal dome that was riveted shut. At the bottoms were panels that held a series of buttons and levers. Attached to the front of each cylinder was supposedly a description of its contents, but both of them were too far away to read the tiny handwriting. They were, however, close as they ever wanted to be to the things that were floating inside. 

Failed experiments. 

Some of them were whole, some of them not. Boys, girls, all under the age of 10, and animals of all sorts. 

The closest to them was a young human male, put into five similar containers. The middle contained his head and torso, eyes and mouth stretched forever in a horrific scream. Whether it was in defiance or terror they couldn't tell. He was tied to a pole that ran from the floor to the ceiling, puncturing through the dome at the top. His arms and legs were floating in the remaining four, secured to poles that were half the height of the container. Thighbone could be seen, the edges jagged and split. Bits of skin and sinew floated around them, slowly and aimlessly waving in the thick liquid. More disturbing was the boy's groin where the area was inverted, leaving deep, dark hole. Webs of red, angry lines burst out to form a macabre decor on the surrounding area. 

The next was a girl, pale hair flowing angelically around her body. From the belly up she was a peacefully sleeping child, eyes closed in dreams, lips slightly open, hands lazily waving against the glass. From the belly down she simply ceased to exist. Her liver and stomach had been given an unnatural view of the world, peeking out from the torn flesh of her abdomen. Her intestines were completely missing, and so was anything below that. A long, ragged, snake-like figure waving in unison to her hands turned out to be the remains of her spine. 

The figures beyond bore various similar forms of evisceration, castration, and separation. Dineer had turned and gagged violently, clutching his stomach and clenching his teeth to prevent himself from retching. Folken paled and quickly slammed closed the door that had taken the both of them to open. 

After that, they concentrated on the books, fearing what might lay behind the other doors. It turned out that one book on the first shelf correlated with a numbered book on the other shelf. The only rhyme or reason in the order of the books turned out to be the time that the specimen had been originally acquired. Estimating Celena to be at about fourteen years of age, they started near end, where the relatively more recent experiments were catalogued. 

Dineer leaned forward and began flipping through the book, having encountered a series of male-only specimens. "Basramlic male, Asturian male, Basramlic male, Egzardian male, Basramlic..." he looked up at his friend. "Not too keen on competitive scientists." He resumed looking at the book. "Basramlic, Basramlic, Freidian, Asturian, Basramlic, Fanelian --" 

"-- Fanelian?" 

"Yes, though what they were doing so far out there I couldn't imagine. Wait." He peered closer. "This is an old child. Fifteen." 

Folken's breath caught in his throat. "Experiment number?" 

"F-19. Folken, you don't suppose --" 

Folken dove for the appropriate log, tumbling a stack of books in the process. "F-19, Subject: Male, purportedly one-half human, one-half Atlantean." 

"Hold on one second," Dineer interrupted. "One-half Atlantean? What sort of fictional --" 

"Appropriation incomplete," continued Folken. "Initial subject unattainable, secondary subject detained. Missing appendage reconstructed (referenced exp. F-19Y). Hereditary supposition confirmed. Fate experimentation on subject delayed, per Emperor's order." He flipped a few pages. "F-19Y, Subject: Male, one-half human, one-half Atlantean. Reattachment of missing right arm. Organics substituted by complex neurologically infused artificial appendage (referenced exp. E-398)." 

"It makes sense," murmured Dineer, eyebrows raised from this new revelation regarding his mysterious companion. "I mean, it's one thing to be here trying to control Fate particles, it's another to be a being that's virtually one with them. Why didn't you tell me?" 

He shrugged in response. 

"Folken," Dineer said carefully, "who were they initially after?" 

His sharp, metal fingers scraped deeply into the leather outer covering. A forgotten anger resurfaced. 

"My brother."   
  
  


"What?" 

Van's soft, horrified inquiry drew everyone's attention away from the Strategos. Dineer took the momentary lapse to wipe his brow and down another gulp of vino. "As I'd said to him, even the possibility that a living Atlantean, a thing that was practically composed of Fate particles, was alive and available was probably too sweet a prize for the scientists to pass up. Most of the children had apparently been purchased, or stolen and the son of a King, hoarded within a castle full of soldiers and loyal citizens, was almost impossible to obtain. Fate, luck, whatever you want to call it placed your brother dying on the forest floor when Zaibach soldiers arrived to attempt your abduction." 

"Then," whispered Van, his eyes sliding towards the boy in the bed, whose fingers clenched in anger now even in sleep, "I could have - " 

"No," Dineer interrupted, a bit of old frustration emphasizing his words. "I remember, once, when everything was over, I attempted to rationalize the possibilities: Could Folken have been King? Could you have survived the experiments? Would Celena been left to live a normal life? In the end, I believed, Folken would have died on the forest floor, a victim of the dragon's maw. You would have become the beast, so to speak; in fact, I almost believe that your presence could have won us the war. Celena would have met her end in Zaibach, a torn, broken body encased in chemicals and glass. 

"Celena, you see, was not part of the experiments by chance, but by design."   
  
  


Folken refused to elaborate, gently placing the book aside and picking up another. Dineer waited a moment, wrought by curiousity. After a while, his friend sighed. 

"I can no longer live the life of Folken Lacour de Fanel," he said, his voice a blend of regret and determination, "and my brother is well taken care of. It is better this way, that I was given this life, rather than risk what might have become of him." Pointedly, his eyes shifted towards the heavy steel doors. 

Admirably Dineer stared at his friend. To accept the hardships he'd experienced on the basis of a brother he'd not seen in over seven years... If only there were others that could share what was beneath this foreign boy's cold exterior. He resumed reading down the list. "Freidian, Basramlic, Freidian, Asturian, Daedalian, Basramlic - ah! Asturian Female. Hm." He hesitated, then suddenly flipped back and forth between several pages. 

"What is it?" 

"This entry," he slapped the paper with the back of his hand, "it doesn't make any sense." 

"What?" Folken reached for the book. Immediately his eyes were drawn to the final entry on the page, where the handwriting, bold and flourishing as it was, stood out amidst tightly packed letters and digits. The final column had the usual set of letters and numbers in the usual handwriting but alongside it, in the same flourishing script, was "Atlan/Sch." 

"There was a book around here," Dineer mumbled, shuffling noisily through their piles, "I think it said - Ah! Maybe this one?" 

In his friend's hand was a worn, compact book, looking as important as a torn paper amidst the heavy leather-bound tomes that made up the rest of the archive. However, this book had been marked quite distinctly with the Emperor's seal in his own gleaming golden wax. Scrawled on the inside were the corresponding markings that had been found in the ledger. Whatever was inside had been meant to be seen by the Emperor and his Strategos, if even the latter had been permitted to know of its existence. 

The two friends exchanged baffled looks. Had this been placed here by accident, or...? 

"Hiding it in the open you think?" Dineer offered. 

"Possibly," Folken replied, cracking open the book carefully with his metal hand, hoping to leave the least amount of evidence that the book had been disturbed by a human being. While his companion scanned the small journal (for indeed, what had been written inside turned out to be quite personal), Dineer set about to looking for the appropriate logbook that matched the girl's experiment number. 

A few quiet moments passed, though finally Dineer located the volume at the bottom of one of their stacks. He sighed as he placed down book; the lack of a night's rest starting to wear on his reserve. He looked at his friend, in the hopes that his predicament would strike some sort of sympathetic nerve, to find an expression that was darkening by the moment. 

"'The man chooses to die,'" Folken read, the journal turned to the last written page, "'bleeding in the snow like a dog, rather than give me the key to my dreams, rather than give me the key to everything that I have ever lived for! The pages missing from his journal are the most important! Precise directions into Atlantis itself! I can no longer make him suffer, but his family still remains.' It ends there." 

"What man?" 

"A man named Leon Schezar." He frowned, flipping backwards through the book. "The Emperor knew of his attempt to find the city of Atlantis, thus devising a plan to befriend and follow him there. Apparently the Emperor was cheated out of what he desired. What does this have to do with a Fate alteration?" 

Dineer, in the meantime, had begun to flip through the details of the denoted experiment. Engrossed and alarmed as he was at the terrifically maniacal particulars, he missed Folken's question. Worn by the late hour and uncharacteristically impatient, Folken slammed his metal hand on the pages his colleague had been looking at. The boy nearly leaped from his skin, sending several books tumbling to the floor. 

"F-Folken," he stammered, "maybe you shouldn't see this..." 

The tired, cold look the sky-haired boy gave him rattled his nerve. He sighed and held out the book. "Just... look." 

Gently Folken took the tomb, pushing aside the Emperor's journal to make space. At the end of the first page, he slowly turned to the next, the expression on his face unreadable. Long minutes passed as he read the entries from beginning to end, and Dineer looked warily at the exit, the lack of windows making it impossible to estimate how many hours of the night had passed. His gaze lingered at the heavy metal door they'd opened when they first arrived, feeling the sorrow and revulsion that he'd experienced when he first saw the children's' remains. Yet, no matter how horrifying the ends, the means had paled in comparison. He fought the urge to vomit. 

When Dineer looked at his friend again, he swallowed his despair. Though Folken's face hadn't truly changed, his eyes betrayed the turmoil inside, and a few tears had escaped their depths. "It might not be her," Dineer consoled softly, compelled to draw the book away from his friend. 

"It is," Folken replied dully, swiping the long sleeve of his left arm over his cheeks. "The physical descript could not fit anyone else. Plus there is… that name." 

"So that is what he meant by Select - " Dineer clapped his hand over his own mouth. 

"'Select'? Who? What are you talking about?" 

Dineer grabbed several books, hands shaking. "Nothing! Nothing! Maybe we should start cleaning up before Wen decides I need to give him another case of Basramlic Vodka." He laughed nervously. 

Disconcertion and misery created by what he'd discovered fed a growing fury. He reached across the desk and grabbed the other boy's arm with his artificial hand, squeezing hard enough with its cold, sharp fingers to illicit a gasp of pain. "You _know_ something. Tell me _now_." 

"You're hurting me, let go!" His protest ended in a squeak. Though the two matched enough in wit, if the confrontation turned physical Dineer was sorely outmatched. He attempted to pull away, only to find that the effort caused the layers of metal that composed his friend's fingers to bite into his skin. 

"Tell me!" Folken barked, grabbing hold of his colleague's neck with his spare hand. Dineer gasped for air, desperate to be free. Their struggles caused most of the books to tumble noisily off of the table. 

"Jajuka," he croaked, "told me... she'd been Selected." 

"How long ago?" 

"Almost four years." 

Shocked, Folken threw back the boy, who sat hard into his chair then bent over coughing. "Four years," he repeated coldly. "You knew for _four years_." 

"I couldn't tell you," Dineer choked out, his speech garbled. "I was afraid - _cough_ - you'd run to save her." 

"You see what she's been through!" he shouted, slamming shut the tome. 

"And I know we couldn't have saved her!" Dineer threw back. "She would have died, _we_ would have died trying! At least we know where she is now and that she's still alive! Folken..." 

"Just shut up." 

He threw the Emperor's journal at his friend, which jarred his shoulder and clattered to the floor. "Clean this up," he snarled, using a royal tone of voice he hadn't sought to use for over ten years. Dineer released a shuddering sigh, too afraid to look up as the angered boy walked out, slamming open and shut the door at the top of the stairs. A few moments later, Wen opened the door, a flickering torch highlighting an unnaturally red face. 

"Fu... Fuck!" he slurred, discovering the mess left in their wake. "Upupup! They'll be here any m-minute, Shorshers. Who knows wha' kinda crap you two have been getting into..."   



	17. Part III Folken Chapter 16

4 **[ 16 ]**

"One, two, three, four, I count the rocks upon the floor..." 

_I don't want to play this anymore._

"There isn't really much else to do, I'm sorry. Can I tell you another story?" 

_All right._

"Once upon a time there was a princess." 

_Bored already._

"Hush! You promised I could tell. Once upon a time there was a princess. She was very lovely." 

_As they all are._

"Of course! All princesses are lovely. One day, an evil ogre spirited her away from her castle to keep her in his tower, where he planned on one day devouring all of her." 

_How wonderful._

"Well, it happened that one day a beautiful knight in shining armour came to rescue her! It was wonderful that he did, for the ogre was at that day preparing to have her for his meal. He was a beautiful knight, tall and handsome, and he spoke with such admiration for the princess that she fell haplessly in love. The knight, though, had only one arm, and a witch had replaced it with a strong, beautiful one made of jewels and glass."__

_This is not a very interesting story. Does the knight decapitate the ogre? Does he chop him to bits and feed him to the dogs? Can you see the knight's bones inside his chest where his arm once was?_

"You're awful, Dilandau. Sometimes I hate you."   
  
  


Jajuka looked into the room at the usual time, trying his best to hide the concern for his favourite charge. Concern meant that he felt, and that he was weak, and to the guards it meant recognizing that the beast with the face of a dog was just as human as they were. As it was, the soldier stationed at the end of the hall watched him closely. Bored and displeased as they were to be "babysitting" the Skirts' experimental animals, most of them took their pleasures in any way they could. Beating up the resident watchdog would hardly merit anything more than a slap on the wrist from their superiors. 

As usual, the young girl sat in the farthest corner from him, hands hugging her knees, always farthest from the door. That wood and metal portal birthed only one good thing, and when it did, she lit up like the little girl she should be and tossed away the truth that she was a bludgeoned, victimised prisoner. Alternatively he'd been rewarded with hugs or tears, for just the sight of him bred comfort. 

But when the portal spewed men in Black... 

The door creaked as he opened it, a familiar, startling sound. She flinched, then looked up at him. He almost sighed with relief at the beaming pleasure in her eyes. She unfolded her long limbs, no longer short and pudgy as they were when she first arrived, but growing with length and purpose along with the curves that had begun to show through the simple green dress that all his wards wore. Under normal circumstances he knew this should be a time of celebration and exploration, to begin learning what it was to be wooed and to be loved. Here there were only the leering, wolfish soldiers to lend themselves to such education. 

"It's time for your supper and your medicine, Celena." 

"All right, Jajuka." 

"Dilandau needs to go now, just as we promised." 

"Very well." She looked pleadingly at her friend, as did Jajuka. 

The empty, cooling stones before their eyes glimmered briefly with the passing of the sun as if their mutual companion who had no body and who had no voice was attempting to be difficult. Then the shadows passed over, night fell, and the young girl looked toward the steaming bowl of food. 

"How long?" she asked, calmly eating spoonfuls of meticulously prepared meat and vegetable stew. 

"Tomorrow," he replied, popping open the tiny vial that was designated for Celena and Celena alone. He crumbled together five drops and the sugary cookies that he'd brought with him. Experience taught him that the sweets hid the bitter taste well. 

"So soon." 

"I know."   
  
  


There was cold metal on her forehead, cold metal on her wrists, and cold metal on her ankles. Around her waist there was a strap of fine, buckled leather. The slightest movement took an effort. She used to cry and scream when they started this, but after a while she realized how much of an awful waste that was. It would earn her a prick in the arm, which though it made her muscles relax and her mind numb, it did not alleviate the pain. No use bursting her vocal cords now when she'd need them later. 

Even if she could move, she wouldn't be able to see; the light shining from up above encased her like a cocoon, unpleasantly filling her sight though it illuminated her for everyone else. She could hear, however, and she always wished she couldn't. Without the ability to hear she'd be swimming in silence and not left to speculate about those low droning voices always made incomprehensible by the bubbling of boiling liquid and the occasional snake-like steamy hiss. 

"Begin." 

A needle pricked her arm. From there a boiling heat raced through her veins. She gritted her teeth. 

"Fate particles to eighty. Chaos line approaching." 

The bubbling intensified. A second needle pierced her other arm. More heat moved through her, though significantly slower. 

"Chaos density at regular levels." 

"Critical point reached. Stabilizing." 

It hit her head, heart, and groin all at once. She howled at the agony and writhed in her bonds, gouging the skin. Blood dripped down her fingers, her heels, and her face. 

"Fate particles to one hundred." Escaping steam shrieked, adding a harmony to her tuneless chorus. 

"Density at maximum. Chaos level peaked." 

Things twisted in her. Her skin felt as if it was tearing apart. The screams went on. 

"Fate and Chaos conjunction complete." 

Her breath caught. Every single muscle she'd ever grown tightened at once. Her veins burned, and her heart stopped. Starved of oxygen, her lungs burst. 

Death stole her away from the torture.   
  
  


_A white haired boy lay on the table, his breathing shallow, his too red eyes staring blankly upwards. At some invisible signal, the clamps unlocked and slid into their compartments onto the table.___

_"Infirmary."___

_A uniformed Madoushi slid the handle to the table into its slots near the boy's head. A second one lifted the bars around the sides and at his feet and they wheeled him from the light into the surrounding darkness._   
  
  


...And she awoke upon the bed in her cell, with the desolate knowledge that it would all happen again.   
  
  


Naria and Eriya jerked awake at the sound of their beloved Master's choked cry. They turned together from their shared bed at the other end of the room. "Folken…?" Eriya whispered worriedly. 

The young man was sitting upright, gasping from fright. Quickly he composed himself, running both his hands through his hair, the human one quivering slightly. "I'm fine. Please, go back to sleep." 

"Very well," responded Naria, though the twins exchanged anxious looks. This was the third time in as many days that he'd woken up so ever since he'd returned late from studying in the Library. They lay down and turned their backs to their Master, giving him as much privacy as was possible in the compact room. 

Folken hid his face in his hands. Gods, he couldn't forget what he'd read. Though the language of the document had been cold, hard technical terms (Drug A administered, reaction threshold 9.8/10, success rate: 95.99%, Particle Hold: 10 Days before reversion), he knew the truth between the lines. In his rats he'd seen both the results of successful Fate Particle inoculation and the convulsing agony that they'd experienced, and then the gory aftermath in those that failed. After his exploration of the Library's inner sanctum, he knew now what the human by-product looked like. 

What could he do? Angry as he was with Dineer, he'd lost his tenuous link to any other student in the facility. Without the popular boy as a constant companion, none of the others felt obligated to acknowledge him courteously. The soldiers still welcomed him, but none of them would have access to the rooms of the Sorcerer's Academy. 

He could not leave her. She was not the only one there, of that he had no doubt, but he could not leave _her_. Dineer had been right in one sense: he could be killed trying to take her from the grounds, and even if he succeeded, it was possible that both Dineer and Jajuka would be executed for the mere possibility that they'd helped him. 

To see her just once… 

He lay down, if only to calm the nerves of his twin feline admirers (whose tails, swishing around as they were, belied their still bodies). There was nothing he could think to do at the moment, but there was always tomorrow to try.   
  



	18. Part III Folken Chapter 17

4 **[ 17 ]**

Dineer stared at Allen, who'd moved from his position on the bed and now had both hands braced against the walls nearest to the northern window. A furious expression sat on his face, and both his fists were tightly clenched. 

"What is it?" the Strategos inquired. 

"You mean to tell me," the Knight hissed, "that my sister was taken from us, tortured and made insane because of what had happened between my father and Emperor Dornkirk?" 

"As far as we were able to tell - yes." 

The Knight snarled at Dineer, still facing the window, "Was your Emperor so petty as to gamble the lives of children for revenge?" 

The Zaibachian sighed in response. "I don't know. To be honest, the Emperor became less and less compassionate and human as the years passed. It was his charisma, his hope, and his desire for rebirth that influenced my once struggling ancestors to reform into the advanced culture that Zaibach is today. But the means of prolonging his life included both arcane and technological means, and as you have seen," he waved a hand towards the prone figure on the bed, "such a mix often produces rather questionable results. Towards the end, the Emperor ran on a single-track mind, and was rather bitter when things did not go precisely to plan." 

"Pathetic," Allen spat. 

While Dineer spoke, Van replaced Allen's seat on the bed. He looked down at his enemy's face, remembering the quick, defensive motion that had created the crevice leading up from the pale boy's right jaw. If it hadn't been for Hitomi that Guymelef bay would have been splattered with his blood. 

But… Well, things such as those were of the past, weren't they? The deadly tradeoff between them, was that not done with? A country for a scar... the lives of countless Asturians and Friedians for fifteen young boys... innumerable one on one skirmishes on allied soil left unfinished, death and destruction left in their wake... It seemed so lopsided; the sacrifices made on his part outweighing the ones made on Dilandau's. The old hatred surged within him. 

And yet... 

He remembered the pale, blue-eyed beauty from the ceremonial parade, her silvery blonde hair tousled by the slight winds, fragile and frightened, so much not the red-eyed terror whose Guymelef had left a path of blood wherever it had gone. Then, later, the fire and determination on her face, inadvertently sparked, and the feel of her less than feminine muscles beneath his hand... All of it so horribly attractive. His hand reached forward, trembling with a mixture of revulsion and yearning, stopping abruptly when Gaddes abruptly cleared his throat. He withdrew his hand quickly, casting the Crusade commander a scathing look. 

"What did they do to her exactly?" Van asked, breaking the momentary silence. 

"Suddenly sympathetic," Zhi spat vindictively. Van's sword was halfway out of its sheath when Dineer interrupted. 

"Zhi," he said softly, "maybe you should wait in the hallway." 

She whirled suddenly on her superior, her voice surging in volume and startling everyone in the room. "Don't tell him! He doesn't care what they've been through. He doesn't deserve to know what _I_--" 

"Zhi," he repeated, more forcefully. 

The tall Freidian looked down at him as if preparing to contest his suggestion. He peered over steepled hands at her, his own formidable will admirably matching the fury behind hers. She relented first, pulling her gaze away to stare at the floor. "Very well," she said finally, "I will wait outdoors for the Princesses." The girl threw a fiery glance at the boy King before pulling on the ornate door handle. She turned once more to the Strategos. 

"Will you tell them?" 

He smiled warmly at her. "Not if you don't want me to, my dear." 

She softened at his expression. "Tell them everything then," she replied. The door creaked shut behind her. 

"What was all that about?" 

Dineer turned his eyes towards the grizzled Crusade Commander. "Celena was not the only child to suffer under the Fate Experimentation Project." 

Gaddes gasped, and Van started at the proclamation. "You mean --" 

"Yes. Zhi was once a victim of those same tortures." 

"And," came Allen's cold reply, still facing the slitted window, "as the King has asked, what were they?" 

The elder man closed his eyes and released a painful sigh. "It was discovered even before Folken and myself had arrived that Fate was not an element that would always push and prod itself on its own. It required help, a good deal of it, if it was to be altered. The Atlantean's natural ability to manipulate Fate for themselves was something of a miracle of evolution. Their desire to alter all fate as they knew it, well, that was just a mistake. The technology, however, that they utilized to do it was so complicated that we assume the creative process took decades, perhaps centuries to undertake. 

"The Generals of the past wanted human soldiers, perfect ones, ones that were instinctively capable, loyal, and who loved the smell of death. To do so the Madoushi proposed using the ancient technology to isolate a single person's Fate and change their Destiny to our making. They discovered that animals would take to the treatments, but these were not enough; loyal as they were, animals did not respond well to commands on the battlefield. However, the experiments that were performed on willing human subjects failed every single time. As the years went on, the Generals forgot, since the success rate was low and the possibility that they'd be granted their request was dim. Eventually the men that held the posts had no idea that the Project still existed. 

"I digress," apologized Dineer, "but someone discovered that the more delinquent a child became under their care, the more successful the experiment, and back then 'success' mean that the child survived at least a few hours before his physical form shattered under the pressure. A human psyche is fragile, delicate, but after a certain age there are barriers instinctively built up to combat outside intrusions. The younger the child, the easier to bend their minds away from their original state and into one of our own making. Good ones they made bad. Bad ones they made good. The difficulty was, though, to imbue the psychological aspects into their subconscious without entirely destroying their original personality. 

"Your sister, as well as Zhi, was absolutely perfect. They were both delicate when they were acquired, yet at the same time they'd developed an inner spark, something - " he rubbed his chin in thought " - I suppose you could call the stirrings of rebellion. Both were being raised in societies that are predominately patriarchic. The younger princess would sympathize." 

"They would have been tomboys," Gaddes remarked, looking amused. 

The Strategos returned the delighted expression. "Something along those lines." His face fell almost immediately becoming once again grim. "The Sorcerer's jobs, then, were to exploit this spark, fan it so that it would become a blaze, a bonfire, with science and Fate as its fuel. In order to do this they needed to chip away the personality that was building, while at the same time maintaining its core." 

"I don't understand," came Van's puzzled query. 

"Hm. I forget sometimes that I speak to people who have no scientific background whatsoever, no offense," he apologized. "In order to create a new creature out of an old one, you still need parts of the old creature, yes?" He lifted his goblet. "Sometimes this is filled with water, sometimes with wine. The Madoushi wanted to empty the glass's current contents and fill it with something of their own that would rest well on their palate. Alas, sometimes what they put in could not be held and the cup cracked and fell to pieces. They ended up with what Folken and I discovered in their hidden vaults as their physical selves took on the same aspects as their broken, psychological selves." 

"Their minds went, so their bodies followed," Van murmured. 

"Precisely." Dineer almost beamed. "Is it a family trait to be so perceptive?" 

The young King bristled. 

Dineer lifted an eyebrow. "I suppose the temperament is as well. As it is," he continued, brushing away the boy's continued glare, "such a thing does not happen in normal circumstances, but with Fate particles many things are possible. 

"As to what I had been saying before - as long as the original persona remained then the body did as well. What they did, then, was to stir within the child another personality, one that was stronger, older, more capable of being the superior soldier they'd been looking for. At the same time the original one had to be retreated and pushed back, but still remain in existence. As long as they could do so they were free to push and prod their physical aspects as much as they wanted to mold perfection. 

"To do this..." He hesitated. "Well, they did a lot of things." 

There was a moment of silence. Even Allen turned a bit at the sudden break in the long flow of conversation. Dineer stared at the goblet in his hand, twirling it back and forth between his fingers. He swallowed hard before continuing, and even then he found difficulty finding his words. "I... didn't want... well, Zhi... the Princesses should not hear of these things." He drew a shuddering sigh and the tears welled in his eyes. "Sometimes they isolated them, put them in cages, didn't let them see another person for days, weeks at a time. They... they frightened them, executed a man in front of them, placed rats and roaches inside their cells to torture them, threatened them... even hurt them, abused them, had soldiers beat them within inches of their lives... told them things, terrible things about their families, that they'd abandoned them to our hands willingly, had asked them to do these things... allowed horrible men and women to... curb their sexual appetites with them..." 

The slender glass fell from his shaking fingers to shatter suddenly on the floor. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he murmured, the tears flowing freely. "God knows I didn't know this was going on until we'd opened those books, seen the cold, precise shorthand about what those children were being subjected to. And I tell you now," he said, his voice rising in fury, "even as some of these men continue to live, not one among them feels sorrow for what they've done." 

Silence, pregnant with anger, sorrow, and revulsion filled the chamber. Three hands clenched on finely crafted swords, reflexively, though despairingly, knowing that the foe that had been revealed before them had already done its damage. Though their blades might find solace in blood, their hearts knew that not even the slaughter of every black-cloaked magician that walked upon Gaea could undo the damage that lay prone in that bed.   
  
  


He saw her once, nearly two years after the discovery in the library. 

He'd managed to avoid contact with Dineer by requesting a leave of absence from the project. The Strategos refused at first, faulting him for his laziness, his inability to produce satisfactory results, and his ridiculous personal misgivings he'd developed about his assistant. Folken made it clear that they'd worked nearly every day, that the Emperor himself had delivered praise regarding their accomplishments, and that there was nothing wrong whatsoever with his assistant. He also calmly explained that the team of Sorcerers that had been assigned to create his Destiny-Prognostication Device had ran into several, noticeable snags and that Emperor Dornkirk was growing visibly rankled over the delay. A few months, no more, he said, would be sufficient. 

Kyr, as head of the Device's team, and whose archaic methods were obviously the causes of the project's degradation, developed an interesting tic under one eye and granted his request. He could go ahead and finish the damnable thing. Alone. 

Temporarily, he and the twins were assigned to another section of the massive Zaibach fortress where the Emperor's personal assistants and the higher ranked Madoushi (such as Kyr) were stationed. Though it wasn't much farther from where their original quarters were, it was closer to the Emperor's Fate Chambers, where a good deal of his own experiments took place. Should he require assistance, no matter the hour, it was readily available. 

The floors meant to house these people were meant to intimidate, to impress, and apparently to disorient. Long, stark hallways lined with high metal walls and stone floors, all in dark grays, were composed of nothing but sliding doors broken intermittently by gas-lit lamps. At each of the hallway was either another door to another hallway, or the entrance to one of the steam and pulley elevator rigs that transported them from floor to floor. Some of them were different in that windows (which offered spectacular views of the industrialized city) instead of doors, took up one of the walls. Since the place was bereft of signs or maps, and since its main residents were often at work rather than wandering about the corridors, an unwelcome visitor could find himself lost for hours. Once he screwed up his courage to open one of the mysterious doors, said visitor would probably find himself in the arms of Zaibach's most elite Royal Guardsmen. 

Distracted by thoughts of Celena, the Device, and Dineer Folken found himself doing just that quite a few times even after having resided there for so many months. He'd caught the soldiers at cards, meals, and, once, in a compromising position with one of the palace maids. With Naria or Eriya's help he found his way around easily enough; their heightened olfactory senses were well enough to accurately pinpoint whether or not the smells behind this door included sweat and steel or whether or not it included acrid chemicals. However, they also had their own training to account for, primarily in Guymelef operation, and Folken had to learn to fend for himself. 

He'd taken a wrong turn too many, cursed himself for being distracted by his thoughts. He knew it'd been a good hour since he'd set out from the main lab, where a fatal flaw in one of Kyr's "alterations" had overclocked the Destiny levels and rendered the Device non-functional after just twenty-five seconds. As promised he worked alone, and though he'd managed to fix the problem he lamented the loss of an intelligent companion. Thoughts of Dineer brought up thoughts of their night in the library, which in turn brought up thoughts of Celena... 

Mounting frustration fed his strength as he slammed open the nearest door. If he was lucky, he'd end up finding some soldiers. He'd discovered that they were far more willing to help him find his way than his jealous peers. Instead, he found himself at the start of a long, dark passage. He peered around to be sure he wasn't being watched; no guards and it was late enough that his fellow Sorcerers were finding their ways either to meals or at least to their personal quarters. 

A boyish curiousity moved his feet forward. Most of the doors opened right into a room, whether it be a laboratory or someone's personal quarters. It was possible that he'd found somewhere important, somewhere that he very well shouldn't be. Well, let them find him and let them punish him. The worst luck would find him executed. Bad luck would find him jailed. Better luck would find him thrown out of the Emperor's good graces and then possibly out of the fortress. The latter, at least, would allow him to explore a life outside this scientific dungeon. 

The tunnel was long, curved, and moved upwards making for long minutes of exhaustive walking. The fear of discovery did nothing to alleviate the work. It ended, finally, at a steep staircase that led straight up to a dusty hatch. Bright, warm light filtered in from all sides. He kneeled on one step to examine the door. It had a simple lock, and by the dust under his knee it hadn't been opened in a while. He used the same two needles that had opened the door under the library to pick the lock, praying that whatever lay beyond was far more pleasant. 

It was and it wasn't. 

The door opened easily, swinging upwards and thumping softly onto the ground. He climbed the last few steps cautiously, his jaw dropping in astonishment. Around him lay a wonderfully maintained garden - green grasses, brilliantly colored flowers, a few scattered trees - surrounded by gleaming, curved steel walls. The light above was abnormally bright and he shielded his eyes against it. A quick glance upwards revealed abnormally large lamps which seemed to feed off of lines of thick wires. He took in a deep breath and smiled. It reminded him of home... of backyard romps with his brother... of the abundant nature of Fanelia's surrounding lands... But in Zaibach, where rich soil was achingly rare, this place was priceless. Had he stumbled, then, into the Emperor's private grounds? 

The shuffling of disturbed grass alerted him to another's presence. He quickly closed the gate and ran for the cover of a nearby tree whose trunk was large and whose proximity to the wall was close enough to hide him from view. He cautiously peered around. 

Celena was standing there. 

Not the bright eyed, merry child; a young woman, whose potential to become achingly beautiful was already visible in her brilliant blue eyes, her elegantly formed face, and her delicately expanding curves. Her soft, slightly curled hair was still cut short to her chin. She wore a similar simple blue dress, though cut for her more mature figure, as well as thigh-length stockings. A short cloak floated in the artificial breeze. The sight of her lifted several years worth of worry from his shoulder. 

A small smile lifted the corners of her lips. Serenity itself. 

But her eyes... 

Her eyes were empty, soulless, dead. 

She stood still, yet the slight wind moved her arms languidly back and forth. A cold chill swept through his veins as he remembered the dead young girl whose arms moved like so enclosed in her chemical bath... 

One pale hand lifted. An exotically colored butterfly lit upon an extended finger. 

She looked at it, entranced, intoxicated. Its wings moved lazily up and down. He was almost relieved. Perhaps it wasn't so bad as it seemed. Impulsively he began to move, intent on announcing his presence. 

Its wings, each nearly as large as her own hand, began beat faster, obviously about to take flight. 

She snatched it with her free hand and crushed it, quickly and deftly. Broken black legs waved haplessly from between her fingers before giving in to death. Pieces of its gloriously painted wings floated to the ground. Yellow and green liquid, the remains of the thing's viscerals, dripped down the back of her pale hand. She brought the corpse up to her face and looked curiously at it for a moment. 

Then she feasted upon it, using both hands to stuff the remains of the delicate creature into her gaping maw. Her empty eyes gleamed, backlit by a desperate, mad lust. 

Nauseous, appalled, he remembered rats. Mother Rat that had destroyed her babies to make a gruesome mural. Mad Rat that had dashed its head on its cage before dying... 

He stepped out from behind the tree. He would take her, now, away from all of this, somewhere safe, somewhere where he could heal her, save her, reverse the process that was eating her mind. If he did not act now, when would the next chance come? 

"Celena," he whispered, slowly approaching her, afraid she'd flee. 

She looked up at him, glittery traces of the butterfly around her lips. Slight recognition dawned, though the promising light was still eclipsed by that dimming hunger. She reached for him as he reached for her, a smile blossoming once again, the emptiness swiftly returning to her too blue eyes... 

"Celena." 

Jajuka was pulling at her arm, gently directing him in her direction. Her body obeyed, stepping lightly along with him, though her gaze still remained fixed upon him. The beastman ignored him completely. 

"No, wait!" he cried, taking a few running steps towards them. Swiftly Jajuka was in front of her, his arms held out slightly as if to block him from her view. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Folken demanded. 

"Protecting you, Master," the canine replied. 

"Me? ME?" he roared. "Do you see her? Do you even care for what she's become? Get out of my way!" 

"I can't do that." 

"I'll _make_ you." And he was prepared to. He didn't need a real weapon when those Zaibach Sorcerers had so courteously fastened one to the skin of his right shoulder. 

The two steeled off, eyes connected in a silent battle of wills. Folken recognized the tactic, so often employed by the lupine clan that inhabited the forests around Fanelia. Their spokesman and chieftain, Ruhm, would have applauded the strength behind the gaze that the dogman employed against the former Fanelian prince. Celena, in the meantime, had not moved. Serenity's smile and emptied eyes had returned. 

Folken looked away first, defeated by the man's natural, superior skill in the act. Jajuka looked as if he'd taken no pleasure in the victory. "Your friend," he said, once again leading the girl away, "he misses you." 

"What?" 

"The brown-haired one. He worries." 

"He has no right to," Folken snarled. 

"He has every right," retorted Jajuka, turning his head slightly to gaze reproachfully at him, "since both of you have had a hand in their success. Your guilt is his guilt." 

The young man blanched, having no proper reply to the accusation. 

"I truly don't mean to cause you further misery." They'd reached a nearby wall. Jajuka pressed a hand to the panel nearby and a door, its borders blending with the thin partitions between the wall's metal plates, slid open. Folken had not moved from where he'd found Celena standing in the grass. The beastman gently pushed the girl through before turning to face him once again. 

"Exit the way you came. No one has used the corridor you discovered for many days. Be sure no one sees you. The Generals have an alcove that looks over this place, but when there is no Council they do not use it. I tell you now that your friend was right in what he said - that we all would have perished if you had tried to deliver her from this all those years ago." 

Dull, throbbing despair had overtaken him. Eyes glassy, fists clenched Folken turned away. 

"Do not give up hope so easily." 

Folken turned. "What do you mean?" 

"There are ways of doing things now that were not possible then. There are stirrings among the Senior Sorcerers. The Generals roam these corridors more often than not. Soldiers and intellectuals alike are being plucked from the general populace and being put to the benefit of Guymelefs and Flying Fortresses. Yet, for all of this, security around these labs is lax, for there are only so many men and so many duties that can be done. The Fate Experiment is becoming lower and lower on the list of their priorities. This I know, this I see, invisible worthless dog that I am to them. 

"Celena has approached the final stages of Fate Experimentation. The last trials are the worst, and the most permanent. Dineer cares for you, though he does not know the girl. I love her as well. There are very few options and a slim chance." 

"What are you implying - " Further shouting became futile. Jajuka was gone. 

He made his way through the hatch and down the corridor, peering cautiously back and forth out the door at the end of the long tunnel. By the light from the window at the end of the hallway it was well into the night, which meant that the soldiers had probably lapsed into their games and that the Sorcerers were performing their nightly ablutions. Nothing to hinder him. 

Folken, focusing more than usual, found his way to his room quickly, not seeing a soul. Jajuka was right. The security was lazy, speaking of either supreme confidence or lack of manpower. He'd been a floor and two left hallways off which had given him ample time to bump into a night watchman. He stared at the door, and smiled. 

Hopefully Dineer's plans would come into fruition soon.   
  
  


Dineer, after another glass of wine and a considerable delay, resumed speaking. 

"I didn't know that Jajuka had told Folken anything at all of our plans. I didn't think that Folken would have even seen it coming. To be honest, I'd hoped that it would come as a surprise, like the grandest apologetic present ever. We had everything worked out - schedules of the guards, disguises, bribes, a halfway point in the mountain pass to place them in until we could transport them somewhere far. I had myself a youthful sense of invulnerability; Jajuka a desperate desire to see his beloved charge safe." 

"It didn't work," Van muttered. 

"No.It failed more miserably than I ever thought possible."   



	19. Part III Folken Chapter 18

**[ 18 ]**

"Good night, Master Folken."

"Good night."

Though his unlimited budget and, according to most, proper sense required that he use human labourers for his experiments, Folken preferred to employ the beastmen that were kept around the Zaibach fortress. He knew that among the sorely uneducated slaves there would be none or few who could understand the complexity of the Device, and therefore reduced the likelihood that one of his jealous colleagues had slipped in a spy or a saboteur. He also knew that his unique camaraderie with the twin catgirls gave him a measure of respect in their eyes; the other humans in the fortress treated them as purely animal or worse. Most of them bore scars as a result of such discrimination. As a result of his kindness, the beastmen laboured more efficiently and with far more effort than anyone in the fortress had ever seen.

More than that, as Folken looked upon the new variety of life around him he felt nearly at peace. These canine and feline men and women were at home when things were green and living, not here where it was gray and artificial. When they spoke to one another their accents brought to mind tall, ancient pines… the sweet smell of recently bloomed spring flowers… the crunch of dead leaves… the skitter of unseen wildlife… the distant roar of a dragon…

Folken sighed, watching the last of them leave. He looked up at the monstrous device sitting before him. Another few days and it would be ready. Then… what? Return back to the stink of lab chemicals with Dineer and the rats? Pretend that he didn't know what they were using his research for, and continue on as if that's what he'd been bred to do? After all, he hadn't even heard the barest of whispers from either his former friend or the resident creature keeper. Perhaps he'd taken Jajuka's words to heart too soon. Perhaps they _hadn't_ been planning anything at all. Perhaps Jajuka, a mere tool for his Zaibach superiors, was just trying to ease his mind so that he could finish his work.

"Master Folken."

"Yes?" Folken turned. One of the men had stayed behind. Unusual. The slave strode forward; a wolvish, older man that was fingering the strings on his tunic nervously.

"Master Folken, there's something I must address with you."

Unusual, again. The beastmen were, if not content, at least quiet regarding their captivity. Pride kept them from vocalizing dissent, but traditional thinking and a dollop of sensibility kept them from taking their own lives. "What is it?"

The wolf was before him. Natural to his race, he was taller than the average human, and gray in his fur marked him as an older man. Folken looked comfortably at him at eye level. Normally passive, normally calm, it was still odd that the other would appear so nervous. He'd toyed with the ties on his shirt so much that the strings had unraveled. "Will you forgive me, Master Folken?"

"Forgive you? Whatever for? If anything it is we who should ask for your forgiveness for forcing you into our service." _We._ Zaibach was a _they_ not a _we_. Disgust played across his face for a fraction of a second.

The slave smiled and relaxed. "I knew you thought so. You are a good man, not like - " he jerked his head towards the door, " - which is why I know that I will be judged well in the afterlife for what I am about to do." Odd words - and a deadly implication. Folken realized both a moment too late as the wolfman's strong paws shot forward and wrapped around his throat.

The former prince slipped on his robes and fell hard onto his knees. He managed to choke out an astonished query. "What are you doing?"

"I am saving you." The grip around Folken's neck loosened only slightly. Still, the beastman's natural strength, the claws biting into the cloth around the boy's neck, and his advantageous position looming over him gave no question as to who still had the upper hand. "I am saving you from a life of slavery, a life where your decisions have no meaning. I am sending you outside of this place where life is choked by the will of man. Now, Lord Folken, you will scream."

To scream was to alert the guards and certainly seal this poor man's fate. "No!" he whispered defiantly, pulling helplessly at furry wrists.

"I know, Folken," the beastman sadly murmured, "that you are trying to protect me. But there is nothing to save. I am an old man now, and I was young when I was taken, my wife and children sold as slaves and curiousities. Only in the next life do I hope to see my loved ones again." Tears filled his eyes and moistened the grizzled fur underneath. "I die sooner this way. Now, my Lord, please scream so that you may help the little girl."

Comprehension dawned. The wolfman's face transformed into a terrible, bestial visage as Folken cried out for the guards, who were undoubtedly waiting for the final slave to exit the workroom. Their angry shouts and hard, booted steps echoed in the large chamber. The slave tightened his grip, stealing the last of Folken's precious air, and then hurled the man to the floor.

Before darkness engulfed him, before one spear, and then another, claimed the wolfman's life, Folken saw a proud smile beaming down upon him from the former slave's face.

"Folken. Folken, you must wake up."

His throat was raw, everything ached, and he was so very tired. He muttered something incomprehensible and clenched his eyes tightly shut.

"Folken. Folken! For God's sake - Eriya, hand me that bag. Here we are..."

The minute the ice-cold thing hit his forehead Folken shot up from his bed. Two heads clocked together as whoever it was hadn't moved out of the way fast enough. Folken hissed and clutched the growing lump on his forehead.

Dineer staggered backwards holding the side of his head. "Agh! Folken! Ow!"

Naria had one of her beloved master's arms. "Master Folken, it's time to go."

Eriya had the other. "We need to move swiftly."

"Where are we?" he mumbled. "And what are _you_ doing here?"

"Yes, w-well," stuttered his former friend, "it's a daring adventure, actually." The younger man pushed at his spectacles. "You're in the Hospital Ward of the fortress, conveniently located at the bottom floor nearest to the main entrance. The guards carried you down here."

Folken placed his feet on the floor, was overcome with a wave of dizziness, and was forced to sit on the side of the gurney. "Why?" 

"We have her," Naria announced, looking joyed but wary.

"Jajuka will meet us soon," Eriya continued. "But we need to get you out."

Dineer shoved a load of heavy, foul-smelling clothes into his arms. "Put as much of these on as you can. The dredges are leaving soon and we need to be among them."

For the first time Folken noticed that the twins were dressed in rags, reminiscent of the slaves that had been working on the Prognostication Device, and that Dineer's Sorcerer's robes had been traded for the overlapping browns and grays of a menial labourer. "Friends of mine are working in the Hospital. They write a lot of pamphlets against the Sorcerers and such and they were happy to hear I wanted out. We're going to slip into the lines of workers that are heading back to the heart of the city."

"What do you mean, that you 'wanted out'?"

"Well, what do you think? I'm going with you!"

"You are not."

"I'm here aren't I?"

"I can't trust you."

A sigh blew through Dineer's lips. "You can't, but there really isn't anyone else here, is there? Folken, I'm trying to help, and I'm trying to say sorry. More importantly, your little friend has been scheduled for the last round of Fate injections - the round that most of those children didn't pass."

Folken's heart lurched. "No."

"However," said Eriya, "Jajuka slipped her into the cart where he stores the dead experimental beasts on the day that it was set for removal. Once it was outside, Nisset found her and is now hiding her in his home."

"She was quite brave," Naria added, "and she was eager to see you."

_Serenity's smile, empty eyes…._ "Was she coherent?"

The twins exchanged puzzled looks. "She was awake, Master Folken. She's quite impatient to see you again."

He breathed a sigh of relief. If they had no idea what he was referring too then perhaps the state he'd seen her in before had only been temporary. "When do we leave?"

"As soon as possible," Dineer said, scratching vigorously at his collarbone. "After you change clothing. Try and ignore the fleas."

Dineer folded his hands and closed his eyes. "Folken had yet to gain the facial tattoos that made him even more distinguishable and I looked relatively typical, though a closer look would have revealed that I was cleaner than I should have been. Anyone would have thought that we were two young men out for a tryst with a few of the local female slaves - a common enough occurrence in those days. The beastwomen found it easy to make a few coins selling themselves since most Zaibachian women were either too well-bred or too modernized to offer themselves in such a way.

"We slipped out easily, more easily than we had expected. It was not because we were _let_ go, but because the guards were as lax outside of the palace as they were inside. A mere dozen herded the hundreds of slaves that populated the Zaibach Fortress and most slipped away into the night to hopefully find their way home. The borders were abnormally fortified, however, and most didn't make it past the gates. They were then given two options: a return to the workforce or immediate death. Almost all took the latter.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Zaibach looks as if it's rather small, being clustered together as it is, but it has become quite heavily populated since Dornkirk first arrived upon our lands. Getting lost within the maze of railways, roads, and buildings was quite easy. We managed to plot a twisted pathway to Nisset's home, a soldier's flat in a rather nondescript area, and settled there to plan our escape.

"I can hardly describe the look on Folken's face when he first saw Celena..."

_Serenity's smile..._

The last time he'd seen her she'd devoured a glittering insect, licking its juices from her fingers as she swallowed its paper-thin wings. Her soulless eyes had gazed upon him in a longing that she herself had no understanding of as she unconsciously reached out for one of the few things that had offered her sanity in all her years of imprisoned life.

Now her expression was full, bright, loving. The beauty that would later stop his brother's heart in that fateful moment in Asturia's royal ballroom sent a flush of colour to cheeks and shortened his breath. Her hair curled to her ears, and when she removed the hood to her slaveworker's cloak the locks gleamed white-gold in the candlelight. Tears from full blue eyes flowed unabashedly down soft, pale cheeks and her lips moved up and down as she fought to find the right words to say.

"Celena?" he uttered finally, his voice choked with sudden tears of joy.

"Folken," she whispered, throwing herself upon him. "How often I dreamed of you."

The two held each other close, and he was nearly careless in his embrace. The metal in his arm bit into the coarse cloth upon her back. Rather than push him away she held him closer, relishing in the warmth of his embrace, her head laying upon his chest and his face buried in her hair. Years of unknown hardship and forced separation lay between them. To let go now was to perhaps lose each other again...


End file.
